


Of Gold and Iron

by Kallypso



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, He's gonna try to adopt her in every universe, I'll tag more stuff in the chapters notes as it becomes relevant, I'm never going to stop writing fics with Tywin and Arya, Modern AU, No Twincest, Trauma, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, but there are other slow burns too, but they'll still be cute, everyone is terrible at self care, got another platonic slowburn for y'all, i don't make the rules, no magic, romantic kinds, that are secrets, the romantic relationships aren't the focus though, this fic is too long to tag everything.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 106,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallypso/pseuds/Kallypso
Summary: It begins the night of the car crash that took Ned Stark's life. The tragedy leaves the Stark family struggling to pick up the pieces. But Arya knows in her gut that her father's death wasn't an accident, and a clue at his graveside sends her across the narrow sea to learn the truth.She does not return for three years.Tywin Lannister finds it more than a little strange that three prominent CEOs in King's Landing died within a year of each other. And when the missing, declared-dead Stark girl shows up in the Lannister manor three years after she disappeared, his suspicions only grow.A series of strange events suddenly draw the Starks and Lannisters together, forcing them to cooperate for once-or else become victims of a conspiracy they do not yet understand.





	1. The Night Everything Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Welp... we're back! over a month away and I was starting to get withdrawals, so I think its about time we start another fic, huh? Welcome to the modern AU.
> 
> A short explanation for this. It's a modern set Game of Thrones story, but that does not mean every event in the show/books has a modern one to one equivalent. If I were to do that, a lot of the story would feel forced. Not to mention, there's just some stuff that doesn't work in the modern world. So I've taken liberties here and there in services of the story and characters over any backstory/plot events in asoiaf/GoT. But then again, if you're here, you're probably wanting something new.
> 
> Mostly we're dealing with House Stark and House Lannister and me forcing them to interact. So if you liked that in A Wolf Amongst Lions, you'll probably enjoy this. As usual, update schedule is on Mondays and Thursdays. Without further ado, ENJOY!

Arya remembered everything about that awful night.

She remembered that the sky was clear, and the moon was only a thin crescent, like a sliver of glass in the sky.

She remembered the chill that came through the screen of her bedroom window: a sign of the true beginning of autumn, and a warning that a long school year was still ahead.

She remembered the smell of burnt popcorn, courtesy of Rickon, who at eleven years old _still_ hadn't figured out the right time to use on the microwave when he made his favorite snack.

She remembered the music coming from Sansa's bedroom. _The Seasons of my Love. _She had been playing that one on loop for the past two days and it was driving Arya mad.

"_I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair."_

And she remembered exactly what she was doing. She was sprawled out across the bed, trying to finish the last few problems on her math homework due the next day. Nymeria lay beside her, occasionally pawing at the notebook and throwing off Arya's concentration.

"I'll play with you when I'm done, girl," Arya gave her shoulder a light shove.

The dog didn't even budge. She was far too large for that. Instead, the wolf hound let out an impatient whine before leaning forward and closing her teeth around Arya's pencil. Before she could react, Nymeria leapt off the bed, pencil clutched between her teeth, her tail wagging.

Arya groaned, rolling onto her back. Between her dog and that damn song and the burnt popcorn scent making her oddly hungry, the universe was conspiring to distract her. She vaulted off the bed, giving a long stretch. "Fine then. Want a snack, girl?"

Nymeria dropped the pencil, satisfied by the offer, and followed Arya out into the hall.

When she reached the top of the main stairway, she heard frantic voices coming from the west wing and the harsh click of her mother's shoes against the hardwood floor.

"I'll call you when I get to the hospital," her mother said as she shuffled frantically through her purse. "By then they'll hopefully know something more."

"Let me come with you," Robb said, catching her arm. "Please."

"No. Watch your siblings," Catelyn said firmly. "They need you here." She rested a hand over his. "It will be all right, Robb. I'm sure they'll both be fine."

Her voice cracked with emotion and panic filled her wide eyes. Arya ventured slowly down the stairs, resting her hand on the bannister for balance. She opened her mouth to ask her mother what was going on, but she was already out the door.

"What's happening?" Jon appeared at her side, ruffling her hair as if on instinct. "I heard voices."

Arya shook her head. She did not know.

Robb ran a hand through his auburn curls. He was deathly pale as he looked from the door to the stairs and finally registered Jon and Arya's presence. "Hey... ah… Mom was..." he let out a heavy breath, looking down at the ground. "Fuck."

"Robb, what's happening?" Arya asked. She wanted to go to him but fear froze her to the steps. She had never seen her mother look so panicked. "Why did Mom go to the hospital?"

"Aunt Cat went to the hospital?" Jon asked. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Robb said. "It's... its Dad. And Bran."

Icy fear spread through Arya's body, a chill that came from deep inside of her and not from the autumn air wafting through the door. Her mother hadn't closed it all the way in her hurry. "They're... hurt?"

"Car crash," Robb said. "It's bad. They're both in critical condition."

"Shit," Jon muttered, taking a step back up the stairs. "I'll... I'll get Sansa and Rickon."

Arya didn't move. She listened to Jon's footsteps rush up the stairs but she stayed absolutely still, staring at Robb, hoping that he might take the words back. He stared right back at her, his mouth hanging slightly open as he searched for some words of comfort. It was what big brothers were supposed to do. Offer comfort.

At last, he reached out a hand and beckoned her to come down the stairs. "Come on. Let's... we'll wait in the parlor for more news."

Arya stumbled down the steps and let Robb wrap an arm around her shoulders. "They'll be fine, won't they?" she asked hoarsely. "It's just an accident. They'll both be all right."

"Of course they will," Robb said. "People walk away from car crashes all the time. Mom will call as soon as she gets to the hospital and tell us we're all overreacting."

Arya nodded, because that was what she wanted to believe. It was impossible that their father and brother could be dead just like that. The other night, her father had been talking about an important deal going through at work soon. He had been really busy, but he promised that he would take a full week off of work when the winter break arrived. It had been a cause for celebration amongst Arya and her siblings since her father pulled such long hours. And Bran had a rock climbing tournament in a week. He'd been practicing and talking about it nonstop. They couldn't be gone without even saying goodbye. It didn't make sense.

Within the next five minutes, the whole family had gathered in the parlor to wait. Rickon had brought the remains of his burnt popcorn with him and kept eating nervously in the silence, occasionally tossing pieces to Shaggy Dog. Robb paced back and forth in front of the window, shushing Greywind when he let out an occasional growl. His dog was picking up on the nervousness in the room. Whenever Ghost approached, the larger dog snapped at his ear and sent him running back to Jon.

Sansa sat curled up on the couch, her knees tucked up under her chin, running her fingers through Lady's fur. The only dog without an owner was Summer, who kept whimpering and nudging the door to the parlor with his great big head. He was waiting. Waiting for Bran to return.

Arya couldn't sit still at all. She moved from the couch to the arm of Jon's chair to the floor under the piano in the back corner of the room.

She was under that piano, lying on her back next to Nymeria, when Robb's phone rang and she knocked her head on the bottom as she scrambled out from under it. The pain barely registered. She needed to know. She needed to know her father and Bran were safe.

"What happened, Mom?" Robb asked. "Good news or bad?"

There was silence and Arya could just barely make out her mother's voice through the speaker, though not enough to understand any of the words. Robb's eyes widened as he listened and blood drained from his face.

"I... right. Of course. I'll... I'll tell them. You stay we'll... we'll come over as soon as we can. No, it's fine. None of us will sleep, anyway. We're on our way over."

The call ended and he let his arm fall to his side. The phone slipped from his fingers and clattered on the ground.

"What is it?" Sansa asked. "What's the news?"

"Bran is stable but... he hasn't woken up yet," Robb said. "The doctors say it shouldn't be long."

They all let out a breath of relief. He was alive at least. Alive and stable. But Robb had omitted something important.

"What about Dad?" Arya asked. "Is he... awake?"

"No," Robb murmured. "He didn't make it."

Arya remembered everything about that awful night—except for what happened after Robb uttered those words. Those moments seemed to blur and Arya felt herself swaying on the spot. Her siblings were all suddenly talking over each other or crying or yelling and the dogs yapped and whined and swarmed about the room. But she could place none of their voices or focus on their faces. She could only stand there in the middle of the parlor, trying to process Robb's words.

_He didn't make it._

_That's wrong, _she thought. _It has to be wrong. He's lying. This is a nightmare. Or a mistake. It's wrong._

She blinked hard and her vision focused again. She found herself alone in the parlor. Her siblings had already left for the car. Only Jon lingered in the doorway, looking back at her with a grief-stricken expression.

"Arya... come on. We have to go."

She nodded and followed him, still hoping that she would wake up from this terrible dream.

But she never did. Not for the drive over to the hospital. Not when her sobbing mother pulled her into her arms. Not when she entered the hospital room to find her father's body lying on the table, motionless and pale.

Her entire world had shattered... and she did not wake up.

* * *

Tywin Lannister was skimming over the notes from the latest board meeting when the news flashed onto the TV. Eddard Stark, the CEO of Stark Industries, was dead. And that confused Tywin more than it should have.

The details of the accident were clear enough. Last night, while driving home with his son an unknown driver struck his car and sent careening off a bridge. He never woke up, and the son had suffered mild amnesia and paralysis from the waist down. They hadn't yet caught the culprit.

Nothing about the report was confusing, but it was strange to Tywin that one of his chief rivals had died in such a... sudden way.

Stark Industries and the Lannister Corporation had been at each other's throats for years. In the early days, when the Starks were based in the north and the Lannisters in the west, they had little reason to interact and mostly stayed out of each other's way. But then they both moved their headquarters to the rising metropolis of King's Landing and suddenly, they had much more reason to interact with each other.

It wasn't just that they were competitors. In the beginning, they weren't. The Starks dealt largely in steel and manufacturing technology and the Lannisters ran in the sphere of luxury goods. The Lannisters had cause to use the Stark's services from time to time, but Tywin never had enjoyed relying too heavily on the whims of others. When the Lannister Corporation started developing manufacturing technology of their own and offering themselves as a competitor... _then_ things had gotten hostile between them. The Starks had struck back by expanding their tech to high end consumer goods. From there, it became a battle of expansion and acquisitions.

It had gotten bad enough that Ned Stark suggested negotiating a compromise of sorts to help them stay out of each other's way—a compromise he only really had leverage to offer because of his contracts with the Greyjoy company, who currently dominated the shipping industry. Tywin had agreed to at least negotiate, knowing that it would be rather easy to overstep said negotiations later down the line. On the other hand, he knew that Ned Stark would never breach a contract. This compromise, if Tywin spun it the right way, could give him the edge he needed.

Now... Ned Stark had died.

"Oh. You saw the news then."

Tywin glanced away from the TV to see his brother Kevan approaching, a folder tucked under his arm. "Obviously. I'm not blind or deaf."

"That was a shock to wake up to," Kevan said. "Ned Stark's father and brother died in a car crash too, didn't they? That family has bad luck."

Luck. Tywin didn't believe in luck, bad or otherwise. "It will be another blow to Stark Industries," he said. "I wonder if they've ever lost a CEO peacefully."

"Not since before our time," Kevan said. "Will the eldest son step up? The boy just finished school, didn't he?"

"He'll be eaten alive if he does," Tywin said. "The board will choose someone more experienced if they're smart. Umber, Bolton, Karstark. A twenty-two-year-old boy isn't ready yet."

"They say he was something of a prodigy in school," Kevan said. "Ned Stark was young when he took over as well. Not as young as his son but... the power of a good family name still goes a long way with investors."

Yes, it did. Tywin imagined it was only that good family name that allowed Ned Stark to claw Stark Industries away from the brink of collapse. That and his ability to make connections. If nothing else, the man had inspired loyalty from his business partners.

"I hate to state the obvious in the wake of a tragedy," Kevan said, looking back to the TV. "But this should make things easier for us in the coming months."

Undoubtedly, it would make things easier and not only for the Lannisters. While Stark Industries scrambled to deal with the fallout, their many, many rivals would vie to fill in the gaps. Whoever struck first would gain the most ground.

And yet... there was something else strange about this situation. Something that bothered him as he studied the news report.

"Tywin?" Kevan said. "Something wrong?"

"That's three in the past year."

"Three? Three what?"

"CEOs in King's Landing," Tywin said. "Three of them have died in the past year. First Jon Arryn. Then Robert Baratheon. Now Ned Stark."

"I suppose you're safe then," Kevan said. "They say these things come in threes."

"That's superstitious nonsense, Kevan."

"You're the one speculating about three CEOs dying so close together."

"It was an observation, not a speculation," Tywin said. "Jon Arryn was old. Robert Baratheon's drinking got him. An accident killed Ned Stark. It's simply strange that it happened one after another."

"I suppose. Robert and Ned were old friends, right?"

"Yes." Tywin waved a hand dismissively. He was being paranoid. "It doesn't matter. Call a board meeting tonight. We need to plan a response to this."

Kevan nodded, setting the file under his arm on Tywin's desk. "Not that it matters now, but here is the latest contract from Stark Industries. About the compromise."

"It matters. Whoever takes over will still want us to honor it," Tywin said. "But we might get away with a few small changes in our favor."

Kevan nodded once and continued on his way, leaving Tywin to look over the contract. He thumbed absently through the papers, glancing back up at the TV again. They were still talking about Eddard Stark. About the life he led and the family he left behind. A wife, five children, and a nephew who he took in after his sister passed on. Tywin had met all of them in passing once or twice, except maybe the youngest boy. If he knew one thing about the Starks, it was that they were a tight-knit family. A loss like this would shatter them.

He did not fully expect Stark Industries to survive this transition, which was perhaps a cruel thought to have. But the world of business was not kind to those who followed the rules of decency.

And it did not stop to mourn the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reasonably short chapter to start and get the ball rolling. Chapter length will vary though don't expect some of the monster chapters that came out of the end of AWAL. Next chapter, we'll get some mourning and some interesting character interactions. Don't forget to follow me on tumblr (Kallypsowrites) cause I post a lot about my fanfiction and I'm friendly, so you can shoot me a message/ask/etc. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	2. The Cemetery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time, with lots of grief and mourning, but also an inkling of the plot starting. Thanks for the reviews and follows on the first chapter. I'm looking forward to continuing the fic.

It never felt real to Arya. Not even at the funeral. Standing all in a row on that day, staring at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground, Arya felt as if she was hovering outside of her body. She vaguely heard her sister sobbing beside her and Rickon wailing nearly as loudly on her other side. She was crying too. She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, and she watched them tumble to the dirt below. But the rest of her felt... frozen.

There were many people there who she did not know. Her father's friends and business partners and distant family. Her mother said it was because her father treated everyone in his staff like an equal. They were all sad to see him go, and they wanted to pay their respects.

And yet Arya didn't want any of them there. She wanted her family. Her brothers and her sister and her mother and her cousin Jon. Maybe her uncle Benjen. Everyone else... they were trespassing on a private moment.

The funeral bled into the reception, and every minute that passed was more torturous for Arya to endure. Hearing people talk about her father into a microphone that kept malfunctioning. Watching her mother deal with a long line of mourners offering their condolences. Sitting in the crowd, trying not to burst. She wasn't just grieving she was... _angry. _Angry at every person in that room. Angry at herself for not crying and being gracious to the guests like her siblings. Angry at her father, as terrible as it was, for leaving them behind.

Most of all, she was angry at the one that did this to him.

They had ruled the crash as a hit and run. On a mostly deserted road, crossing a bridge, some drunk driver rammed into the side of her father's car and sent it tumbling over into a ravine. They hadn't found the one responsible. They didn't know who they were or even what car they drove. There was no video footage of the accident. Nothing to go on. And so the person who had ruined their lives got away. They were living their life, unbothered by what they had done.

Just thinking about it, Arya felt angry tears well up in her eyes again and she dug her nails into her palm as her fists clenched.

"So... _forever _then?"

Arya blinked and looked up at the sound of the incredulous voice. A few kids from their school stood in front of Bran, sizing him up. Her brother was red eyed, but not crying. His expression was set like a stone throughout the entire service. He had been like this since he woke and found out the news—their father was dead, and he would never walk again.

"Yes. Forever," Bran said in a flat voice.

"But maybe not, right?" the kid asked. Arya didn't know his name. Was he one of the Umber boys? "You _could _walk again someday."

"Not according to the doctors, no," Bran said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well technology is always advancing. You could-"

Arya advanced on him, drawn by some invisible force. She shoved the kid away from her brother, hard enough to send him stumbling back into a table, rattling the glasses and knocking a few to the ground.

"He _said_ he didn't want to talk about it, asshole."

"I was just _asking,_" the boy said, in a voice that made Arya want to break his nose. She might have too if Jon hadn't slid between them, resting two hands on her shoulders.

"All right, all right. Back off," Jon said.

"You didn't even _know _my father," Arya snapped, struggling to get past Jon's arm. She knew people were staring, but she didn't care. "What in the seven hells are you _doing _here?"

"Arya. Calm down." Jon gave her a gentle push toward the door. "Let's take a walk. Come on. You need fresh air."

Outside of the room—away from the noise and the strangers—Arya felt her mind clear. But when the anger dispersed, it left her with this empty, hollow feeling in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just... snapped."

"It's all right," Jon said, running a hand through his hair. "We're all just trying to keep it together. Rickon looked about ready to fight someone away from Bran earlier. And Aunt Cat... I bet she'd send every guest away right now if she could."

Arya nodded once. Of course her mother felt the same as she did. Maybe worse. She could not imagine how she endured all those guests offering empty condolences. "I'm just so... angry. I've been angry all day. I've been angry since the hospital."

"I get it," Jon said. "I know... I know he wasn't my father but-"

"He _was_ your father, Jon," Arya said. Their father had taken Jon in when he was barely one-year-old, when his mother passed away from cancer. The father wasn't in the picture. He didn't even know Jon existed. So their father had stepped in at once. Jon had known no one else. "Do you remember...?" Arya swallowed a lump in her throat. "Do you remember the last thing you said to him?"

"Yes," Jon said. "I saw him leaving that morning to go to work. I said 'see you later' but I barely looked at him because I was hungry and I was running for the kitchen." He looked up at her. "You?"

"That's the awful thing..." Arya said. "I... can't remember. I can't remember the last thing I said at all. Was it goodbye? Was it something else?" She clutched her head between her hands and slid slowly down the wall. "I can't remember."

And then she was crying. It spilled out of her all at once in broken sobs and the tears blurred her eyes so much that she only saw Jon's shape as he sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. And they stayed there together until the reception was finally at its end and Arya had no more tears to cry.

* * *

A few weeks later, Arya sat at the top of the main stairway, aimlessly tossing a tennis ball down the steps and watching to bounce. Nymeria loyally retrieved the ball each time and brought it back to her, tail wagging all the way. It was just entertaining enough to occupy her attention since she did not really want to move.

It had been close to a month since her father had died, and Arya could count on two hands the number of days she had gone to school since. The school had been understanding, sending make-up work to the house. However, her mother insisted that starting tomorrow, everyone would start attending school regularly again. No absences. No skipping.

Arya was not happy with the arrangement. She didn't want to endure the staring or the half-hearted attempts at sympathy from people she had never talked to. She would rather do literally_ anything_ else.

_I could always get into another fight, _Arya thought. _Then they'll suspend me. Maybe for a week._

_Is a week enough time to finish grieving?_

She hurled the ball down the steps again and Nymeria bolted down after it, nearly sliding across the tile in her efforts to retrieve the target. Arya's lips twitched into a small smile.

Then, as Nymeria ran the ball back to her, she heard voices coming from the east wing of the house, off toward the dining room.

"-anything from the police?" a man was asking. Arya recognized his voice. Petyr Baelish. He was an old friend of her mother's and he had been hanging around the house a great deal since her father died. "Any more news on who caused the crash?"

"None," her mother replied. "They said there's not much they can do unless someone comes forward. No video evidence. No eye witnesses."

"Seems very convenient for the perpetrator," Baelish said.

"Sometimes life is convenient for bad people," her mother sighed. "What are you trying to get at?"

"Just that... well your husband had many enemies, Cat," Baelish said. "I think it's worth pursuing more leads. Just in case this was intentional."

Nymeria whined and nudged at the ball in Arya's hand, but her grip had locked tight around it at Baelish's words.

_Intentional. Was it intentional?_

"Peytr, I'm in no mood for conspiracy theories," Catelyn said. "My family wants to mourn, not think about the person who did this to us."

"And you wouldn't sleep better at night knowing the truth?"

"Would knowing this so-called truth bring Ned back to me?" her mother snapped. "You have no evidence to suggest it was anything _but _an accident. Ned wasn't the first to go over that bridge. He won't be the last." Her mother paused, attempting to lower her voice with the next words. Arya leaned forward slightly, trying to hear. "Chasing after the culprit won't make anyone feel better, especially when we don't have any evidence. We might as well chase after a ghost."

"All right," Baelish said. "I'm sorry I brought it up, Cat. I just wanted to help."

"I know," she said. "I know. Just..." A faint ring of her cell phone sounded through the hall. "I have to take this."

Her mother's footsteps clicked away, while Baelish's footsteps drew closer. Arya stilled at the top of the steps as he came into view, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Nymeria let out a small growl.

"Arya." Baelish noticed her. "I didn't you know you were listening. I'm sorry about that."

"Do you really believe someone tried to kill my father?" Arya asked flatly.

"I wouldn't say I believe it," Baelish said. "I just find it suspicious. I'm afraid I have a suspicious mind."

Arya had a suspicious mind too. And the temptation of having someone to blame... it was almost too much to resist. Then at least she would have _someone _to take the brunt of her anger. "Is there someone who would... try to kill him and make it look like an accident?"

"King's Landing is a cutthroat place for businessmen," Baelish said. "And making murder look like an accident is the most logical choice if you don't want anyone to catch you. That's how they say the Faceless Men operate."

"I've heard of them," Arya said. People at school liked to use the Faceless Men as a one size fits all conspiracy. Someone turned up dead? The Faceless Men. A politician said something strange and out of character? The Faceless Men replaced him with a clone. The food in the lunchroom tasted strange? It had to be the Faceless Men in the kitchens.

It was a joke, mostly, but everyone knew that the Faceless Men _did _exist. They weren't magic like some of the rumors suggested. They were... a gang of sorts which had nearly complete control over the city of Braavos. People said they would kill anyone for the right price. They did not care about the motive. They did not care about the character of the one paying for the death. They accepted the price and carried out the task.

"And... you think they killed my father?" Arya asked.

"No, of course not," Baelish said. "I was just giving an example. Your mother is right. I'm sure it was just an accident. And it's probably best that you keep believing that, child."

It didn't seem best to believe it. Not if it wasn't true. And now Arya could think about was the Faceless Men. There were plenty of men rich enough to buy the death of her father without getting their hands dirty.

"Peytr." Her mother's voice sounded from nearby. "Are you still there?"

"Right over here," Baelish said, giving Arya a little wave and disappearing from sight again, leaving Arya with a little thought that would not go away.

_What if my father's death wasn't an accident?_

_What if someone had him killed?_

_What if there is someone to blame?_

She felt tears burn at her eyes and she hurried down the steps, throwing the tennis ball down the opposite hallway for Nymeria. Before her dog could even catch the ball, she was out the door, running. Where was she running to?

She didn't know. But if she stayed in her house with her thoughts for one more moment, she knew they might eat her alive.

* * *

She ended up at the graveyard. She had just enough money in her pockets to pay for the bus fare and she rode until she reached the Baelor Cemetery. It was an exclusive plot of land just outside of the Sept of Baelor, where only those from wealthy families could afford to bury their loved ones. Tall fences sectioned off different sides of the cemetery and gates emblazoned with old family crests guarded the dead.

Many of the wealthy families that lived in King's Landing came from other places around Westeros. The North, the Riverlands, the Reach...but while their businesses still had roots there, King's Landing had become the true economic hub. Arya's family had been there since her grandfather was young.

She had never met him. He died in a car crash before she was born with her uncle Brandon. A month later, her aunt Lyanna was dead too, killed by some advanced form of cancer. Her father said he thought about burying them back in the north... but he wanted to be close to them, so he bought them a plot in King's Landing.

A wolf's head emblazoned the Stark plot's iron gate, and just past the bars she could see the gravestones—large pillars with stone wolves on top. Her father's statue was fresh carved and clean.

She wanted to go inside, but she did not have the key. She hadn't thought to grab one when she left because she had not thought to come here. So instead she sat down in front of the gate, staring straight ahead through the bars.

She wasn't sure why she came here. For answers? To be alone? Or maybe she just hoped that the last few weeks would prove to be a terrible nightmare and her father would appear at any moment to scold her. She could almost imagine what he would say.

"_You shouldn't be out here alone, Arya. Your mother will worry. Come on... let's go home."_

She could almost hear it in his voice and it made her eyes burn all over again. She dug her fingers into the earth in front of the gate, tearing away a few blades of grass.

That's when she saw it. A single coin lying just beyond the bars. She slid her slender wrist through and grabbed it, rubbing away the dirt from its surface. It was made of iron. Certainly not Westerosi. There was a strange script written on either side. Her brow furrowed. She knew this kind of money. She didn't know of other countries with iron coins. Braavos. It came from Braavos.

_Making murder look like an accident is the most logical choice if you don't want them to catch you. That's how they say the Faceless Men operate._

The Faceless Men were based in Braavos. They killed anyone for the right price. Of course, if they had anything to do with her father's death, it did not seem right for such an organization to leave any evidence outside of his grave.

And yet… it was such a coincidence. How many Westerosi people carried Braavosi coins around in their pockets?

_They could have made a mistake, _Arya thought. _One little mistake...and thought I wouldn't notice._

_Was he... was he really murdered?_

In answer to her thoughts, the skies above opened up, releasing a torrent of water on Arya and the surrounding graves. She didn't move. She just watched the rain drops plink off the iron coin in her hand as grief closed its grip around her heart.

* * *

Tywin was not one to linger on grief. It was inconvenient at the best of times and he rarely had the minutes in the day to dwell. But he allowed himself one day of dwelling every year when he visited Baelor's cemetery. It was one of the few times he went anywhere alone because he did not want anyone else around him in those moments.

When he arrived, the cemetery empty, perhaps because the sky was a dark grey and looked ready to open up at any minute. That was fine by him. Better no one noticed him on this particular day.

It had been twenty-six years now. That was an awfully long time ago. He tried not to think on it most days. On _her. _It was hard to even picture her face without feeling something deep inside of him shift. But he forced himself to remember on this day at least. Otherwise, he might forget her, and that was intolerable to consider. He was always stuck between that. The temptation to lock every memory of her away and the fear of forgetting.

_Whoever said time heals all wounds knew nothing, _he thought.

It started raining, and he swiftly opened his umbrella to shield himself as he looked over the other stones. He knew many people buried in the Lannister family plot of land. His two younger brothers were here, laid to rest after they died in the first war with the Free Cities. They buried them beside his mother and father. And scattered throughout were a few cousins, aunts and uncles who Tywin knew once upon a time. Only half of them actually rested there. Some of them were buried back in the family cemetery in the west, but they memorialized them here.

He buried _her_ here though, in the same city where she had died. He wasn't sure why. Because he wanted her close? It was a foolish thought. She could not be close anymore now that she was dead.

He let out a long breath, passing from her grave to the graves of his parents and brothers, briefly paying his respects there. Then the rain picked up, and he decided he had mourned enough for the year. He slipped from the Lannister plot of land and locked the gilded gates behind him, burying his grief again.

When he rounded the corner onto the main path toward the cemetery entrance, he stopped. There was someone else in the cemetery, though he could have mistaken them for a shadow, curled up on the ground in front of one of the gates. The shadow had no umbrella, but did not flinch at the touch of the rain. Whoever they were, it was easy to see their loss was fresh.

Tywin was about to leave them to their mourning when he realized which gate the shadow kept watch over. The Stark gate. Tywin tilted his head to the side. Was it one of the Stark children? He couldn't imagine anyone else would keep such a dedicated watch over his once rival's grave.

He couldn't tell which one it was at this distance. Not that he would know their name if he could. He didn't have much interaction with most of them.

He wasn't sure what drew him closer to the shadow. Curiosity, perhaps. He wanted to see who it was. And before he could think better of it, he stopped beside them.

"How long have you been out in this?" he asked.

"Since it started," the shadow murmured, their voice flat and lifeless.

"Hmm," he looked the child over. He couldn't see their face because of how their head was bent, but they resembled a drowned cat. "Doesn't seem wise to stay."

The shadow looked up at him, grey eyes burning with fury past strands of dark hair. It was one of the daughters. He recognized this one. What was her name again? "I don't _care _about a little rain."

"Clearly," Tywin said. "It's Arya, isn't it?"

Her eyes narrowed. A clear yes. "Who are you?"

"We've only met a few times. I wouldn't expect you to remember."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, flicking a few strands of wet hair from her eyes. "Did you work with my father?"

_Or against him, _Tywin thought. "You could say that."

Her brow furrowed as she studied him. Then came the recognition. "Wait... you're Tywin Lannister."

"Correct."

"You were there the day they suspended me for punching Joffrey Baratheon in the face."

So she recalled. Yes, that had been their second meeting if he remembered correctly. She was nearly as furious then as she was now. "I believe I was, yes. He's my grandson."

She scrutinized him before looking back to the locked gate. "My father hated you."

"You don't make a practice of filtering your words, do you?"

"Why should I? It's the truth."

_So, she doesn't just resemble her father in looks, _Tywin thought. She was an honest little thing, and if she was afraid of him, she didn't show it. But then again, grief stripped away most emotions. Including fear.

"Yes. It's the truth. We did not get along," Tywin said. "Nonetheless, you have my condolences."

The girl shivered, maybe from the cold or maybe from something else. One of her hands clenched into a tight fist like she was clutching something for dear life.

"You should get out of this rain soon, girl," Tywin said. "Go home."

"I can't," Arya muttered.

"And why is that?"

She mumbled something that he couldn't hear and he raised an eyebrow.

"What did you say?"

"I don't have enough money for the trip home," she snapped, glaring up at him, as if he had caused her to forget her bus fare.

"I don't suppose you have a phone," Tywin said.

"Left it at home," she said.

"No phone, no money, no umbrella. You planned poorly," he observed.

She let out a huff, her arms tightening around her legs. "I know. I wasn't thinking when I left I just... Leave me alone."

He probably should. He owed nothing to this child and if she wished to catch her death in a rainstorm, that was her business. But then again, if he left her to walk home for miles in the rain... well, he imagined her mother would have something to say to him about that. And Tywin chose to avoid that headache of a conversation.

"All right, stand up," Tywin said. She gave him a look and his expression hardened. "I won't ask again."

For the first time, a flicker of fear passed through her gaze, as she seemed to remember that most did not trifle with him. When she was fully standing, he realized that she was awfully small for someone who so openly picked fights.

He fished a few coppers from his pocket and offered them to her. "You can use this for the bus fare."

"I... what?" She stared at the money like she didn't know what it was.

"You're not deaf. You heard me," he said.

"I did but..." she looked up at him. "My father said you weren't very charitable."

"I'm not. It's just a courtesy," Tywin said. When she still hesitated, he sighed. "By all means, pay me back at your earliest convenience."

She swallowed hard and held out her hand. As he let the coppers fall into her palm, he caught sight of something iron there. But before he could study it for too long, she had slipped everything into her pocket.

"Thank you..." she mumbled. Now that her anger had faded, he could hear that her voice was trembling. He imagined the rain was chilling her.

He nodded once. "How far away is the nearest stop?"

"Half a mile, I think," Arya said. "I wasn't really...paying attention as I walked."

No. Of course she wasn't. She likely hadn't been thinking of much of anything since her father died. Grief really was a vile emotion.

"Start moving then," he said. "Before you drown in all of this."

She nodded and hurried toward the front gate. He followed her, wondering, not for the first time, why he was bothering with this. They reached the parking lot and with Tywin's car in sight, he turned and held out the umbrella.

"Take it."

Once again, she looked up at him with a confused expression. Ned Stark truly must have spoken ill of him often in order for her to react in such a way.

"You can always return it to me if you're so worried about being in my debt, you know," he said, an exasperated note creeping into his voice.

That prospect seemed to satisfy her, and she accepted the umbrella from him. "I will."

"Good," Tywin said. "Now go. Catch your bus home before your mother calls a phone you don't have."

Fear of worrying her mother seemed to light a fire under the girl and she nodded once, turning and hurrying down the street. Tywin did not watch her for long before he returned to his car. He could have offered her a ride, he supposed, but given the girl's reactions to his other offers, she might think he was trying to take her hostage.

She was right to doubt him. He didn't make a habit of offering anything to anyone unless he had something to gain. But even he couldn't bring himself to just leave the girl in the rain like a drowned rat.

She was not the only one who had come to the cemetery to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will literally never get tired of writing Tywin and Arya interacting. Even all of their convos in A Wolf Amongst Lions weren't enough for me. So here are their modern versions. Hope you enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time.


	3. The Iron Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! Hope you liked the Arya and Tywin interaction last chapter. You'll get another little sliver of them this chapter, as well as some good Bran stuff and some more world building. Enjoy!

Arya was soaked to the bone when she arrived back home, and she left a small puddle on the floor as she stepped in out of the rain. The umbrella had been a welcome shield, but it could not exactly dry her already wet clothing. She was still shivering as the cold fabric clung to her frame and stripping off her jacket did little to help.

_How long was I out there? _Arya wondered absently. She had lost track of the time and she had no way to check it now. Her phone was still somewhere up in her room and unlike most of her siblings, she never wore a watch. She peered around the empty foyer.

_Did anyone notice I was gone?_

"Arya!"

A frantic voice reached her and Arya winced. That answered _that_ question. She closed her eyes as her mother rushed forward, not wanting to see her expression of anger and worry.

"Gods, there you are." Two arms pulled her into a tight hug. "You disappeared, and we didn't know what happened." Her mother pulled back and Arya risked opening her eyes. Yep. Anger and worry. Just as she suspected. "You left your phone. You can't do that. If there had been some emergency, you'd have no one to call."

"I know. I'm sorry. I... I forgot it," Arya murmured.

"Forgot it?" her mother repeated. Arya was aware that it was a stupid excuse. She almost never forgot her phone. "And where did you go after you forgot your phone?"

Arya swallowed hard. "I went to visit father."

At once, the anger melted away from her mother's face, revealing the grief beneath. She let out a long breath, reaching out to push Arya's wet hair back from her forehead.

"You're soaked through. Did you forget to use your umbrella?"

"No, I... I didn't have one when I left the house. It wasn't raining then," Arya looked down at the umbrella in her hand. "This one I... found."

Found. Yes. That was a much better explanation than the truth. _Tywin Lannister gave it to me, _was too strange a sentence to speak. Arya still wondered if that encounter had been a hallucination.

"Well... next time don't leave the house in such a rush." Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "Go change. Quickly. Before you catch a cold."

Arya nodded, hurrying toward the stairs.

"And Arya," Catelyn called after her. "Please don't leave without telling me again."

Arya swallowed hard. "I won't. I'm sorry."

Ordinarily, her mother might have given her some punishment for disappearing like that. She would have punished Arya for skipping school as well. But nothing was "ordinary" these days. Not since father had died.

Arya was shivering like crazy as she made her way to her room, hoping to change into something dry before anyone else noticed her. She did not get her wish.

"Did you drown?"

Bran's voice came from beyond the threshold of his open bedroom door. She turned slowly to see him sitting in his chair in the middle of the room, scrolling through his phone.

"Yes," she said at last. "I drowned and I'm a ghost coming back to haunt you."

"You're doing a terrible job of it," Bran said. "Not sneaky at all."

"Are ghosts supposed to be sneaky?"

"In the beginning, yes. If they appear too soon, it spoils the haunt."

"I'll take that into consideration then." Arya drifted into his room, forgetting all about the wet clothes. She could deal with them later. Bran had barely spoken to anyone since the accident, and she did not want to miss her chance to speak with him now. "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," he said, glancing up from his phone. "Just like you."

"Just like me." Arya swallowed hard. "Is Mom making you go back to school tomorrow?"

"No. I'm an exception," Bran said. "Still getting used to my chair. She's thinking about hiring a private tutor. King's Landing Academy isn't exactly wheelchair accessible."

"Can I share?" Arya asked.

"Only if you get a chair like mine," Bran said. "We could match."

"Tempting, but I'll pass. I'm hoping to catch a bad cold instead."

"So, that's why you look like a drowned ghost."

"Yep. All part of my plan." Arya slipped a hand into her pocket, feeling the Braavosi coin again. The iron was cold against her palm. "Have your memories come back at all? About the crash?"

"No," Bran said. "Nothing useful. But I'm not sure I want them. It may make things worse."

"What if your forgot something important?" Arya asked. "Your memories… they could lead us to the truth."

"What truth?" Bran asked. "Dad's dead. I'll never walk again. Some asshole knocked our car off a bridge and got away. That's the truth."

"You don't want to know who did it?" Arya asked.

"I'd rather have my legs back, to be honest." Bran leaned his head back against his chair. "I get it. Revenge has its appeal. It just won't change anything. Dad will still be gone, and I'll be in this chair." He shrugged. "But hey... I'm not stopping you. If you want to track down the one who did this… Best of luck. Give them a bloody nose from me."

Arya swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up."

"It's fine," Bran said, going back to his phone. "You should change. If you haven't caught a cold by now, you're not going to."

Arya bit her lip and nodded, backing out of his room. "Want the door closed?"

"Nah. How else will I spy on everyone?"

Arya's mouth twitched, then she hurried onto her room. Nymeria leapt off the bed the moment she entered, nearly knocking her off her feet. Arya knelt in front of her, petting her great head.

"Hey, girl. Sorry I ran off in the middle of us playing," she murmured.

Nymeria let out a low whine and licked Arya's cheek. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around the dog's neck, holding on tight.

Outside, the rain continued.

* * *

Arya caught a cold after all, and it was bad enough that she got her wish to stay home from school for two more days. It left her with more time to think about the coin she found at her father's grave.

The iron coin sat on Arya's bedside table, and when she closed her eyes, she saw nothing else. Every time her thoughts drifted, they returned to that coin. A Braavosi coin left at her father's grave. There was no reason for it to be there unless...

Unless...

_They say that's how the Faceless Men operate._

She needed to know. Even if she couldn't _do _anything about it… she needed to know the truth. And that meant going to Braavos.

Arya did not know much about Braavos, outside of what she learned in school. They were once one of the most powerful Free Cites, and they had been allies with Volantis during the first and second Essosi wars.

If Arya remembered her history correctly, the first war had been a massive domino effect which started with Volantis overstepping boundaries with Tyrosh and declaring war against them when Tyrosh closed their borders. Myr offered support to Tyrosh which brought Lys to Volantis' aid as they had long fought with Myr over resources. Qohor and Norvos were drawn into the conflict as well, on opposite sides, though Arya couldn't remember which side each of them joined. She always got them mixed up.

Eventually, Westeros ended up in the mix, on the side of Tyrosh and Myr, as the government at the time saw Volantis' ambitions as a possible threat to Western soil—and Western pockets. Braavos joined around the same time in support of Volantis when they decided they were more likely to win the war.

Volantis was powerful, and so was Braavos. It was because of their resources and their navy that Westeros was forced to pull out of the first war. The Free cities eventually signed a treaty very much in Volantis' favor and an unsteady peace resumed… for a time. In the second war, nearly two decades ago, some of the slighted Free Cities struck back and Westeros with them, eager to gain back control over naval trade routes. This time they won, and not because they were stronger. A political revolution and resulting economic collapse forced Braavos to stay out of the second war, leaving Volantis vulnerable and without support. Thus, Westeros had won, gaining the resources and trade routes they wanted, while they're Free City allies regained stolen territory.

Braavos was still rebuilding in the aftermath of the collapse. Their government was fragile, their bank had not fully recovered, and it allowed the Faceless Men to move unchecked through the struggling country.

If Arya went to Braavos, it would not be hard to find them. If she paid them enough money... they could surely tell her what had happened to her father. Or they could tell her they had nothing to do with it and give her some peace of mind.

So sometime late at night when she couldn't sleep because of the congestion and uncertainty, Arya ended up on her computer searching for ways to get to Braavos. A plane ticket would be expensive enough to catch her mother's attention and she would have to book the flight too far in advance. A trip by ship on the other hand... it was cheaper, and she could buy her ticket on the same day she left with cash. Then no one could track her.

It was a two-day trip from King's Landing to Braavos. By the time Arya reached the coast, her mother would be sick with worry. But if she was lucky, she would be back within a week with answers. Her mother would be mad. She might confine her to the house for the rest of her life. That was fine. She was prepared for that.

It was two weeks after the rain incident when she finally decided to leave. By then Arya's mother had stopped keeping such a close eye on her. She was too busy helping Robb with the company and Bran with his paralysis. Amongst her siblings, Arya faded into the background, and here that was an asset.

Thursday seemed the best day to leave. That way she would hopefully be back home before the new week started so no one could accuse her of missing too much school. She packed her bag full of essentials, but not so full that her family would find it suspicious. And she wrote a note to her mother, which she left just under her pillow.

_Don't worry about me. I'll be back soon. I'm going to get answers about father. I promise I'm all right._

—_Arya_

The note would not reassure her mother. Not even a little. But her mother said not to leave without telling her, and this was Arya's terrible way of keeping that promise.

As she packed, her gaze flicked to an umbrella sitting in the corner of her room. The same umbrella Tywin Lannister had given her two weeks before. It had been such a strange encounter that Arya had thought it must be a dream. But the umbrella was a reminder it wasn't.

Arya did not know much about business, but she knew that Tywin Lannister was easily one of the most powerful men in Westeros because he played the game with ruthless efficiency. Her father had called him a lot of things, especially when he thought his children weren't listening. He was a cold, conniving bastard, with a bottom line for a heart. He made a sport of running competitors out of business and absorbing their assets. And in the wars...well. Her father had never told her what Tywin Lannister had done in the wars, but she knew it wasn't good.

In the Stark household, Arya only ever heard negative words about the Lannisters, and she believed them. Why shouldn't she? Joffrey Baratheon was half Lannister, and he was perhaps the worst human that had ever existed.

So, it had been strange when the patriarch of the Lannister family stood beside her in the graveyard and offered her a few coppers and an umbrella to help her home. The coppers were nothing to him, of course. He might as well have given her a few rocks he picked up off the ground. But the fact that he offered them at all surprised her.

_What was he doing in the graveyard? _She couldn't help but wonder. She hadn't asked at the time because she was too focused on her own grief. And she imagined if she _had _asked, he wouldn't have answered.

Nymeria trotted by, knocking over the umbrella with a great wag of her tail. Arya exhaled. Maybe Tywin Lannister was everything her father said and maybe he wasn't. But she was more inclined to believe her father, and if he was right, she didn't want to owe the CEO of the Lannister Corporation _anything._

Before she left for Braavos, she would settle her debt.

* * *

Tywin expected the Stark girl to quickly forget their encounter in the graveyard. So, he was legitimately surprised when his assistant told him that there was an 'Arya Stark' waiting to see him.

She no longer looked like a drowned rat when she walked through the door, and her expression was calm but determined. She set two things on his desk. The umbrella and a few coppers.

"Your debt is paid," Tywin said. "I didn't think you would take it so seriously."

"Better safe than sorry," Arya said. "I wouldn't want you to call it in many years down the line."

"I see." Tywin counted the coppers and raised an eyebrow. "You gave me back more than I gave you."

The girl lifted her chin. "Interest."

A single laugh left him before he could stop it. Gods, she was _something _wasn't she? Her father's daughter through and through. He wasn't sure what was more amusing: the fact that she had thought of interest or that her math was actually correct. "All right. I accept that. Pleasure doing business with you." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "It's strange you're here right now."

She shifted from foot to foot. "Really? Why?"

"I believe there's something called school you're meant to attend. Shouldn't you be there?"

She rubbed her palms together. "Probably. Yes."

"Why aren't you?"

She didn't answer for a long time, and when she did, she didn't look at him. "Because I don't want strangers asking me how I'm doing."

Tywin nodded once. Yes, that seemed a reasonable enough explanation. There was nothing worse than a stranger feigning sympathy.

She looked up at him cautiously. "Are you going to call someone?"

"It's not my business how you spend your days," Tywin said. "Do you have a phone this time at least?"

"Yes," Arya said. "And enough money to get me where I need to go."

Tywin tilted his head to the side. "And where is that?"

She seemed to freeze for a moment and he saw her throat bob up and down as she swallowed too hard. "Does it matter?"

"No. I suppose it doesn't," Tywin said. He noted that she had a rather large bag over her shoulder. But it didn't matter to him why. He barely knew the girl. "So long as you're prepared this time."

"I am," she said.

"Good," he said. "Until next time, Arya Stark."

She nodded once, then backed quickly out of his office.

She had the look of a girl about to run. That wasn't overly strange for teenagers. Joffrey often disappeared for days at a time to spend as much money as possible before reappearing asking for more. He disappeared more often since his father had passed less than a year ago. It was understandable if Arya Stark did the same—and also not his problem.

But when she left his office that day... he did not expect her to go missing for three years. Nor did he expect anything that happened after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During my research, I was shocked at how small the narrow sea actually is. It may be intimidating with dark age technology but in the modern age it is super easy to cross so... yep. Two day trip as opposed to weeks at a time.
> 
> Also don't worry, we're not skipping ahead three years yet. We gotta follow Arya to Braavos next chapter, naturally. I'm looking forward to writing with modern, no magic Faceless Men. And writing with them at all. I never really got include them in AWAL. Hopefully you guys will like it too. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	4. The House of Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! In today's chapter, Arya takes a trip to Braavos to get answers, and a certain Faceless Man makes an appearance. Enjoy!

Arya turned off her phone the moment she boarded the ship for Braavos. By now, her mother had probably found her note and would soon be frantically calling her for answers. But Arya couldn't afford to look back or doubt. She needed answers of her own. That was all.

She had a plan, though it was thin at best, and mostly based on the scant information she tracked down on the internet. Most sites about the Faceless Men were wholly unreliable. They were hubs for conspiracy theories or straight up guessing. But there was one piece of information which popped up many times.

_Do not ask directly for the Faceless Men. Show a Braavosi an iron coin and say 'Valar Morghulis.' The Faceless Men will find you._

Valar Morghulis. It meant 'all men must die' in High Valyrian. A foreboding phrase. But it was the only lead she had, and she was willing to try.

Once she found the Faceless men—or they found her—she would offer them money in exchange for the truth. If the stories were true, the Faceless Men were a neutral force. They didn't choose sides, and they always fulfilled their promises if said promises were bought and paid for. It would be in their interest to help someone with money.

Or at least... that's what she hoped.

On the voyage over, Arya spent most of her time locked in her small cabin, trying to avoid prying eyes and questions. When she bought the tickets (two of them to make it seem as if she was not travelling alone), she said she was travelling with her father. She did not want anyone on the ship to inquire into that story, so it was safest to stay out of everyone's way. Not to mention, someone could recognize her face if she wasn't careful. She didn't frequent the news, but as the daughter of the Stark family, she had ended up in more than one paper. Not as much as Sansa or Robb, but she still wouldn't risk being noticed. She already got lucky that Tywin Lannister hadn't cared enough to call her mother. She wouldn't test that luck. She only ventured on deck at night—for the fresh air and the sky full of stars.

Her father used to know all the constellations. When they went up north once a year to visit the old Stark family manor, which sat vacant for most of the year, they always spent time outside, laid out on the grass together, enjoying a night sky undisturbed by the city lights. Arya never remembered all the names of the constellations. She just enjoyed listening to his voice as he named them. Just looking up at the stars made her feel closer to him.

He wouldn't want her to be doing this. He would want her to stay safe at home with the rest of the family. But it didn't matter. If she couldn't find out the truth, she would spend the rest of her life tormented by questions. The 'what if's'.

She set aside her doubts and returned to the cabin. The sky was clouding over, anyway.

On the dawn of the third day, the ship arrived in Braavos and Arya stepped out onto the planks, her bag slung securely over her shoulder. A fine mist covered the port, and the city had just started waking. Men and women wandered the planks and opened the shops and stands lining the docks. She spied fruit sellers and pubs, and stores with fine silks displayed in the windows.

But for every open shop, there stood a vacant building with a crumbling archway and broken windows. The second Essosi war ended seventeen years ago, before Arya was even born, but the political turmoil in Braavos continued for years after that. The dust had settled now, but the crisis had carved its mark into the city.

She slid a hand in her pocket, palming at that iron coin again. Wondering where to start.

_Show a Braavosi an iron coin and say 'Valar Morghulis'._

She worried about the validity of the tip, even though she had seen it repeated across several sites. It could just get her robbed. Not to mention she was Westerosi. Maybe the locals wouldn't look kindly on her for that.

_No. Westeros didn't cause the damage here. They never even fought on Braavosi soil, _she reminded herself. If she was in Volantis she might worry, but Westeros and Braavos had an open trading relationship these days. Even if she faced any trouble, she had a lock blade in her pocket beside the coin. If need be, she could use it. Or… try to use it anyway. She had never actually used a knife before. Not for real.

She took a deep breath and approached a man working out the docks, holding out the coin and speaking the words.

"Valar Morghulis."

He looked up at her, his fearful gaze flicking from her face to the coin. Then he shook his head and left his post immediately. As if she was some ghost who would curse him.

She tried again and got much the same reaction. Fear and confusion. Some ignored her completely, as if they were deaf. One man told Arya to go home. That this was not the place for her, and she did not understand what she was saying.

Her search led her into many taverns and shops until eventually she found herself back on the docks. The words Valar Morghulis had gotten her nowhere and the Faceless Men had not appeared.

Arya stared at her reflection in the water, fighting the urge to fling the coin into the sea. This was stupid. _She _was stupid. Did she really think it would be so easy to find the Faceless Men? They had maintained control over the free cities for a reason. This had all been a wild goose chase, and she had nothing to show to her anxious, angry mother when she returned home.

She slid her phone from her pocket, thinking of turning it on again and calling her mother. Or maybe she should wait until she was back in Westeros. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

"A girl looks upset."

A strong Braavosi accent reached her ears. She turned to see a man who had not been there a moment ago, sitting beside her on the docks. He was something between young and old, red-haired but with a white streak down one side. His grey eyes seemed friendly enough, but she didn't trust them.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"Those asking around for Faceless Men are rarely 'fine'," the man said. "They are looking for death. Their own or someone else's." He glanced at her. "Which are you looking for, lovely girl?"

"Neither. I'm looking for answers," Arya said. "Just answers."

"Interesting," the man said. "That makes you different from most that come looking. I suppose that will make your price different."

"I have money," Arya said.

"That is the _usual _price," the man said.

Annoyance flashed through Arya. This man seemed to enjoy speaking in riddles and she could not tell yet if it was a quirk of his or if he was just screwing with her. "I just want to talk to them."

"Then you have all you need," the man said. "Show me that coin, lovely girl."

She did, holding it out to him.

"Good," he said. "Now go to the house with a black and white door, on the north-west side overlooking the sea. Knock and show them this coin. And if you are prepared, say the words."

"Valar Morghulis," she said.

"Good," he said. "But remember girl... you should only go if you can pay."

"I can," Arya said. "I have money."

The man smiled as he stood. "I told you. That is the usual price. And you are not asking for something usual."

Arya looked from him to the coin in her hand, tracing her thumb over its surface. "What is the price then?"

She received no answer. And when she looked up again, he had disappeared.

Arya swallowed hard and returned her phone and her coin to her pocket. Then she stood. She was already here. She refused to return without something to show for it.

* * *

The House of Black and White stood on the edge of the water, just like the man said. It would have been prime real estate in Westeros but every building on the block looked abandoned and there was no one in sight.

"_Following the advice of a stranger," _Arya thought. _"This is a very good way to get murdered."_

Her hand curled around the lock-blade in her jacket pocket as she knocked on the door three times. Then she waited, counting the seconds of silence, trying to ignore the racing of her heart.

On the fifteenth beat, the door opened slowly, and an old man peeked out his head. He had a hunched back and his hood obscured most of his face, aside from a mouth full of crooked teeth.

"No visitors," he growled.

"Please, I won't take long," Arya held out the coin to him. "Valar Morghulis."

He studied the coin for a long time before he replied. "Valar Dohaeris." Then he stepped aside, gesturing for Arya to enter.

"_I could still turn back," _she thought. As if she would. As if she had ever turned back from anything in her life. Her father had always warned her about that.

_Pick your fights Arya. Some fights are too large for you._

But if she picked any fight... it would be this one. And anyway, if the old man attacked her, she could probably move faster than he did.

She slipped through the door and into the unknown.

* * *

The front hall of the House of Black and White was poorly lit and narrow, lined with identical white doors. The old man hobbled past all of them, never turning to make sure Arya was following. She glanced nervously over her shoulder a few times, half expecting someone to attack her from behind. No attack came.

Soon enough, the hall opened into a much larger room with high walls and a patchwork of holes in the rafters. Beams of sunlight streamed through, casting patches of white amongst the shadows. One beam fell over what remained of a stone fountain. It was cracked in places, but water still bubbled weakly into the basin.

If Arya were to guess, this used to be a ballroom meant to host exclusive events. She could imagine tables all around, and there was a raised platform at the other end of the room, like a stage. Now, it was a ruin.

There were others in the room, stalking between the beams of light like shadows, sweeping the floor. They were all dressed in identical grey outfits, which hung loosely on their frames. Arya made eye contact with a girl who could not be much older than her and she shivered. There was nothing in her eyes. Just a cool emptiness.

_You shouldn't be here, _a little voice said in the back of Arya's mind. She had never been good at listening to that little voice and her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense.

The old man did not stop in the large room. He continued forward, slipping through a door off to the left and down another hall. Arya hurried after him, her hand clenching on the hilt of her lock blade again. Just in case.

Eventually he led her into a dark room. She paused outside the doorway, wary of entering until she saw what was inside. When he turned on a lamp light in one corner, she identified a desk and a few chairs. It was an office. He gestured for her to sit in the chair across from the desk.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Then perched on the edge of the chair, ready to run at a moment's notice. The man hobbled behind the desk and took a seat.

The moment the old man sat in the chair, his back straightened, his shoulders rolled back and he raised his head. He pulled back his hood, along with the ratty wig on his head, letting it fall to the floor, and snapped away a pair of false teeth. And at once, Arya recognized the man from the docks.

"You," Arya whispered. "You're a Faceless Man?"

"I am, lovely girl," the man said. "A man has no name, but you may call him Jaqen H'ghar. And a girl is Arya Stark."

She froze where she sat, gripping tight to the arms of her chair. "You know my name?"

"I know more than your name," Jaqen said. "A girl is Arya Stark, the second daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. She has four siblings and a cousin she considers a brother. And less than a month ago her father died in a car crash. She came here in her grief, hoping for answers." He raised one eyebrow. "Tell me. What answers does Arya Stark want?"

It took Arya a long time to respond. Just the fact that he already knew so much about her seemed to answer her question. Why would he know all of that unless...

"Was my father murdered?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Jaqen said. He spoke so calmly, as if answering a question about the weather. And yet that single word was a gunshot to Arya. Her whole body shuddered.

"Was it... was it your people?"

"No," he said. "But we know who did it."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Who," she muttered. "Tell me who."

"That answer comes at a price," Jaqen said.

"I told you I'll pay. My family is one of the wealthiest in Westeros. Whatever you want, I know we can-"

Jaqen held up a finger, wagging it back and forth. "Ah, ah. A girl was not listening earlier. She thinks the price is money. That is not the price we seek."

"What then?" Arya asked.

"A name," Jaqen said. "The name Arya Stark."

Arya's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"You know the words we spoke to each other, do you not?" Jaqen asked. "Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris. What do they mean?"

"All men must die," Arya said. "I don't know what the second phrase means."

"All men must serve," Jaqen said. "Sometimes, that is the price of death. To serve." He tilted his head to the side. "A girl says she wants answers, but that is not all she wants. She wants vengeance. She wants to take the life of the one who took her father. But before she can kill, she must serve."

Arya swallowed hard. He was right. If someone intentionally killed her father, she wanted them to suffer. She wanted to take their life away from them. They didn't deserve it. "How would I serve?"

"A girl will give the Faceless Men her name. She will train with them until she is ready. And when she is finished training, the Faceless Men will give her the answers she wants. They will give her revenge. And once the deal is complete, a girl will no longer be Arya Stark. She will be one of us."

Arya stood abruptly from her seat, so fast that she knocked it over. "Why would I ever... That's insane. I can't stay here and train, and I can't give up my name. I have a family. I need to get home to them."

"And what will a girl do once she is there?" Jaqen asked. "Sit and wonder all day about her father's death and the one behind it. Worry about the family she still has. Who is to say the culprit will stop at the father?"

The man's words sucked the breath from Arya's lungs. Of course. Whoever killed her father could have a vendetta against the company as a whole. Maybe one of his coworkers who wanted to take over. Maybe one of his rivals. They could go after her eldest brother next or her mother. Perhaps they would target her little brothers or her sister to get to Robb. Anyone of them could land in the crossfire, just like Bran. Who was to say? She did not know the culprit so she could not discern their motives.

"A man can guarantee that no one will harm the Starks while a girl trains," Jaqen said. "And then the girl will be ready to eliminate the threat and protect them forever. Is not your name a worthy price for that?"

"It's not just my name," Arya murmured. "It's my life."

"We trade in life and death here, lovely girl," Jaqen said. "I warned you not to come unless you were prepared to face that."

Arya's grip tightened on the knife in her pocket and Jaqen raised an eyebrow.

"Does a girl think she is ready to kill?" He stood from his desk, circling around and gliding toward her. "Ready to take a life? Is she ready to trade in death?"

Arya's heart rammed against her rib cage as if it wanted to break its way through the bone. Her whole body was trembling but especially the hand which gripped the knife. If she could just... if she could just strike fast enough.

"Show me," the man purred with a voice soft and smooth as silk. "Kill me and you can leave."

Arya bared her teeth in a snarl, flicking the knife from her pocket. She jabbed it forward, trying not to think about what it would mean if the blade sank into his chest.

He caught her wrist just in time. Her blade had barely punctured his robes but not his skin.

"A girl is too slow," Jaqen said. Arya shuddered as he twisted her wrist away from him, forcing her onto her knees into the process. She dropped the knife, and it clattered against the stone floor. "You cannot hope to take revenge like this, Arya Stark. You cannot hope to save your family."

Arya looked up at him, eyes wide. She had never been so terrified in her life. Why? Why had she come here? She should have known better than to cut a deal with these people. Just like her father warned her... she had picked a fight too large for her. "Why do you want me?"

"It does not matter," Jaqen said. "It is still your choice, lovely girl. You can leave this place. But if you do, I fear your father will not be the last dead Stark."

Tears rose to Arya's eyes. "You... you promise me that if I stay, my family will be safe."

"Yes," he said.

"And that if I train, you will lead me to the culprit?"

"Yes," Jaqen said.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Arya asked.

"You don't. But a man has no reason to lie," Jaqen said. "The Faceless Men always keep their bargains and always give what is bought in full. Life. Death. Answers. Vengeance." He knelt down in front of her, drawing her phone from her pocket and holding it up to the light. "If you come to doubt this promise, you may leave. No one in Westeros will believe you if you tell them what happened. We have nothing to fear from a single girl. So if you would like, you may leave."

He seemed as if he did not care much at all about Arya's decision. It was nothing to him... and everything to her. If he spoke truly, then if she left, someone else she loved could die. If he spoke falsely, the Faceless Men could kill _her_ before she reached the docks. And then the rest of her family, just to be safe.

_I can't let anyone else get hurt, _she thought.

"I'll... I'll stay," she whispered. "I'll stay and train."

Jaqen smiled at her. Then he released her wrist and grasped her shoulders, drawing her to her feet. She watched him slip her phone into his pocket.

"Then welcome girl. Welcome to the House of Black and White."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and Arya bit off way more than she could chew (as she often does). You might wonder, of course, why the Faceless Men are interested in taking Arya as a trainee at all. And there is a reason for that. Just not one that will be revealed for awhile. Regardless, the Faceless Men aren't magic in this, but they've got quite a few tricks up their sleeves.
> 
> Next time, we're cutting ahead three years. But don't worry, as I said, we'll still get flashes of what happened those three years (from Arya and the other characters) in later chapters. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	5. Three Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! We've skipped forward three years in time to get the main plot rolling. Enjoy!

Three years ago, Arya Stark disappeared. There was an article in the paper about it that morning, remembering the strange, unsolved case of the missing then dead girl. Tywin knew that if he read it, the writer would speculate on the terrible luck of the Stark family. A dead father, a crippled son, a missing daughter. And the ones they had left behind still "bravely soldiering on".

It was a good story for the masses, and hardly a month passed without the press digging it all up again. They loved to write about the remaining Stark children coping and failing to cope. They saw Stark Industries as an underdog, somehow, even though it was a multibillion dollar company. And yet the papers alternated between condemnation and praise of the Starks depending on the day.

Tywin rarely read the articles. He ignored the press when he could. They were vultures that one could buy when needed, and Robb Stark didn't know how to control them. That came with inexperience he supposed. If only the Stark boy's inexperience made him less vexing in negotiations. But in business, the boy never showed weakness.

The papers often talked about Robb, the youngest CEO in King's Landing. Or Sansa, the pretty but struggling daughter, Bran the crippled boy who hid from the cameras, and Rickon, who had picked fights with the press more than once. Today, the living Starks were not the focus. It was one of the dead ones. Arya. Missing three years ago. Found dead a year later. Sometimes, he found his thoughts drifting to the girl, wondering what had happened to her and why.

He had interacted with her exactly four times, and he only remembered so well because she made a strong impression each of those times. The first she had been only six, and her father had been forced to bring her to work. An unexpected fight at school or something of the like. Tywin did not remember why he was at Stark Industries or what he and Ned Stark had argued about that day. But he _did _remember that she had given him a fearsome glare when he left, as if she were fully willing to fight him. The fact that she was six and the size of a doll made the whole experience rather amusing.

The second time was also after she had gotten into a fight, this time with his grandson, which ended with her breaking Joffrey's nose. Tywin remembered feeling annoyed that day when his daughter called him and asked _him _to go to King's Academy because she was out of town and she did not want to call her ex-husband. He had agreed, if only because he didn't want Robert Baratheon handling the situation either.

That had been another argument with Ned Stark and once again, he never exchanged words with his daughter. But she glared at him that day too, her chin lifted in a challenge of sorts. As if to say 'I broke his nose and I would do it again if I could'.

The third time was in the graveyard. There had been no argument with her father then, because he was dead. And it was the first time he had seen her without a glare.

The fourth time... well that was the last time anyone had seen her alive.

Perhaps that was why it stuck with him. Every time the papers speculated about what had happened to her, he remembered her standing in his office that day, her chin lifted high, daring him to call someone and report her for skipping school.

He wondered absently what would have happened if he had.

The door to his home office opened, and he tossed the paper to the side as his daughter entered. "Myrcella isn't allowed to go out at night again until we've hired a bodyguard," she said without preamble.

Tywin looked up at her, confused. "What?"

"A bodyguard. She needs one, but she doesn't want one. I've overruled her as of this morning." Cersei sat in the chair across from him with a sigh. "Someone tried to slip something in her drink last night when she was out with friends. Luckily, one of her friends noticed, but I'm not risking that again."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who did it?"

"Our security team is working on it," Cersei said. "But if she'd had a guard in the first place, this wouldn't have happened."

Her tone was accusatory, but then again, that was just how Cersei was when she was angry. "By all means hire one. Why haven't you already?"

"She fought me on it." Cersei sighed. "She doesn't want a bodyguard following her around everywhere."

"I'm sure she'd prefer that to any unsavory alternatives," Tywin said. Myrcella was eighteen now. She was technically an adult, but she was still very much a teenager. The same age Arya Stark would be if she lived. If the one who had killed the Stark girl was still on the loose, Myrcella was a prime target.

"Yes, well... I've put out a request now. I just thought you ought to know," Cersei said. "And if you notice her sneaking out, stop her."

"I believe that would be the job of security," Tywin said dismissively.

"It's yours too. You're her grandfather," Cersei said. "At least pretend to care about her well-being."

"I do," Tywin said coolly. "Maybe I would have more time to care about her if you learned to rein in your eldest son."

Cersei's eyes narrowed, and she sat back in her chair. "Why? What has he done now?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of. But that's exactly the problem. You should be keeping track of him," Tywin said.

"He's nineteen. He has a bodyguard of his own."

"Who he leaves behind at every opportunity."

"Well, do you want me to follow him everywhere he goes?" Cersei asked, running an agitated hand through her hair. She did that when she was losing footing in an argument.

"No. I'd just like you to keep him out of the papers," Tywin said. "If you had learned to control him as a child, this really wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

Cersei's jaw tightened. "How are things with Tyrion, father? Reined him in yet?"

Tywin had no wish to entertain this conversation any further. "I'm busy. So unless you have anything else of importance to discuss, you may leave."

"Of course." Cersei stood, tossing a file onto the desk. "The new contract with the Tyrells. I looked it over and marked the questionable sections." She raised her eyebrows. "Will that be all, Father?"

He slid the contract in front of him. "Yes. That will be all."

He waited until Cersei had left the room before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow. He had Tyrion well in hand. He'd cut him off from the family money at the very least, and he knew his son's extravagant and spiteful way of living would leave him penniless soon enough. Then he would come back. There was no need for Tywin to rein him in.

In fact, cutting Joffrey off from his funds wasn't a bad idea. If he got out of hand again, he might enforce that with or without Cersei's approval. Boys like Joffrey made him grateful for Myrcella and Tommen. Compared to him, they did not cause trouble. But even a well-behaved girl like Myrcella needed people looking out for her so long as she was both Baratheon and Lannister.

Otherwise, she would go the same way as Arya Stark.

* * *

On most mornings in Braavos, the mist came rolling in just before the sun, covering the docks and cobblestone streets with a fine white blanket. That was Arya's favorite time in the day. A time when the city was only just waking and the first of its people started their days. She would sit out on the western docks, letting her feet dangle just over the water, and watch the ships coming in.

She had come on a ship just like it a lifetime ago, a child looking for answers in a desperate attempt to cope with her father's senseless death. Back then, she had plans to board another ship and return home. But she was naive to think that was an option.

Instead, Arya stayed in Braavos and began her training as a Faceless Man, and that training had marked the hardest three years of her life.

For the first year, she only saw the sky through the holes in the ceiling of the House of Black and White. She was not permitted to leave. It was part of the training, but it was also a security precaution. People would look for Arya Stark and their search could not lead them here.

That was the most difficult year of training. Arya went through a gambit of endurance tests, learning how to go without food, sleep and sight for long periods of time. Her body ached more often than not as they regularly pushed her to the breaking point. In between that, she learned the many arts of the Faceless Men. Disguise, languages, poisons, martial arts. How to go unseen and how to draw attention at the right times. The days blended together and she could tell the passage of time only by the shifting of the beams of sunlight.

Then, one day, Jaqen H'ghar presented her with a newspaper from Westeros. The front-page story said that Arya Stark's body had been found under a bridge. She was dead to all who knew her, especially her family. And thus, Arya could go outside again and continue her training.

She learned to go unnoticed in a crowd.

She learned to gamble at taverns and swindle tourists out of money.

She learned to kill subtly and obviously.

She learned how to become someone else and how to become no one.

That last thing though... that was the most difficult part. She could slip into another skin well enough, but beneath that skin, she was still Arya Stark. She still had Arya Stark's thoughts, and in the moments when she had the time to stop and breathe, those thoughts weighed down with loneliness. Regret. Crippling fear of failure.

And hatred for the one who drove her here. She did not yet know who they were, but she knew that they were out there somewhere. And she would make them pay. That was what all of this was for. They gave her training so she could bring the killer to justice. And in return, she would give them her name. Permanently.

Until they fulfilled their end of the deal, she did not _truly_ have to become no one. So for now, she liked to sit out on the docks at dawn and be alone for a while with her name.

A staff landed beside Arya on the docks, interrupting her peace. It was her only warning before a second staff nearly knocked her into the water. She narrowly rolled to the side, scooping up her staff and getting into position. The Waif was facing her, a cold little smile on her lips.

"Hello, stupid girl."

The Waif was in her fifth year as a Faceless Man, and she had reached the point where she barely remembered her old name, and she certainly did not go by it. She was simply the Waif. To the other Faceless Men, to Arya, even to herself. Arya knew that eventually she too would have some title, but until then, the Waif gave her nicknames of her own. Stupid girl. Slow girl. Silly girl. Always some insult. Arya had grown so used to them; they had lost their touch.

"Morning," Arya said. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are. And you need training," the Waif replied.

Arya could not help but let a smile cross her face. "Did you miss me so much?"

The Waif tilted her head to the side, observing Arya like a snake might watch a mouse. Then she struck. Arya only narrowly dodged her first two strikes and blocked the third before it could crack her over the top of her skull.

In the beginning, this kind of training had been brutal. Arya had always been good at sports and she had taken a few martial arts classes here and there. She was quick and strong for her size. But the Faceless Men pushed her to the very brink of her abilities and then kept going until she could not sleep at night she was in so much pain. Slowly, her body had hardened and her skills had sharpened. But still... still she was not fast enough to beat most of the other Faceless Men.

The Waif was no exception. Her skill with a staff was as good as her skill with a gun—practically flawless. Finding a gap in her defenses was a trial. Arya could only work to minimize the bruises.

She backed down the edge of the dock, ducking and weaving between the waif's blows, smacking the weapon away when she had to.

"You're not attacking," the Waif sneered. "Just _running_."

Arya's eyes narrowed, and she advanced, twirling her staff upward and trying to slam one side under the Waif's chin. She bent backward and knocked the staff from Arya's hands, sending it rolling down the dock. Then she stabbed out with her own, nearly backing Arya off of the dock. Arya grasped tight to the staff to keep from tumbling over the edge. If the waif released her weapon, she would plunge into the water.

"You're too slow, girl," the Waif said. "Always too slow. And predictable."

Arya's eyes narrowed. _Am I? _Her hand shot forward, and she grabbed the waif's arm. Then she pushed backward off the pier, dragging her opponent into the water with her. The sea was icy cold and drove the breath from Arya's lungs. But at least, for one moment, she could say that she caught the Waif off guard.

She resurfaced a moment later and found that the Waif already standing on the dock again. She was soaking wet though, and she looked irritated, which was enough for Arya.

"Feel better?" the Waif asked icily.

"Yes," Arya replied.

"You shouldn't. Only an amateur stoops to a sacrificial play like that," the Waif said.

Arya clambered up onto the planks opposite the waif. "It worked."

The Waif observed her disdainfully, her lip curling slightly over her teeth. "You are not ready. And yet he still means to give you an assignment. You will fail."

"An assignment?" Arya's eyebrows shot up. "I'm being given an assignment?"

"Yes," the Waif's mouth twisted into a smug smile. "The Kindly Man is looking for you. If you don't hurry, he will be cross."

Jaqen. Arya cursed the Waif for not telling her sooner. She swept up her staff and hurried back toward the House of Black and White.

Nearly three years she had been here, and they never gave her a true assignment. Only practice. So whatever the Waif said... perhaps Arya was finally ready.

* * *

Even three years later, Arya found it hard to enter Jaqen's office without feeling nauseous. She had met many Faceless Men since she came to Braavos. The Hawk, who taught her how to use a firearm. The Doctor, who saw to all injuries and, when necessary, plastic surgeries. The Gambler. The Snake. The Apothecary. The Waif, her most frequent tormentor. All of them were dangerous in their own way. But none of them scared her as much as Jaqen.

To everyone else in the House of Black and White, he was the Kindly Man. But to Arya, he would always be Jaqen H'ghar, the name he used when plucked her from her life. The Kindly Man did not suit him at all, for he was not kindly. He had a pleasant demeanor, of course. His expression was soft and his voice gentle. And they stayed that way no matter what. When he gave orders. When he gave punishments. When Faceless Men died. Always the same face. Always the same voice.

Arya dreaded him, and whenever he called her 'lovely girl', the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She forced herself to appear calm, however, as she entered his office and took a seat in front of him, awaiting her orders with a straight back and a flat expression.

"A girl will return to Westeros. To King's Landing," Jaqen said without preamble, and Arya's heart leapt and plunged all at once. It had been three years since she had been home, and though she shouldn't have, she missed it dearly. Yet she knew that she was not returning as Arya Stark. That name did not belong to her anymore.

"Who will a girl be when she goes?" she asked.

"Beth Rivers," Jaqen handed her a file across the desk. "A poor young woman who has recently lost her uncle. She has no family to return to, and she is desperate for a job. She has little education. But she is strong and quiet and observant. Adept with firearms and self-defense."

"And what kind of job will Beth Rivers get?" Arya asked.

"She will become a bodyguard," Jaqen said. "For the granddaughter of a wealthy family. A reputable agency will propose her as a candidate, for she is the perfect fit, though she has little field experience."

Arya nodded once, flipping through the file. "What family?"

"There will be more information waiting for you when you cross the narrow sea," Jaqen said.

Arya glanced up at him. "Why can't I know now?"

"Because a girl must learn patience," Jaqen said, his mouth twisting into the slightest smile. It was not warm though. Nor was it cold. It was something in between and it _always _felt like a threat. "She asks too many questions."

Arya swallowed down her fear. "Sorry. I know."

"However..." Jaqen leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "The Faceless Men still have a debt to pay to Arya Stark. Beth Rivers is looking for work. But where she works, she may find the one Arya Stark seeks."

Arya's eyes widened. The one she sought. The one responsible for her father's death. "You're... going to give me answers then?"

"Beth Rivers will give you answers," Jaqen said. "She will watch and listen, just as she has been taught. And if she is truly a worthy student, she will find the truth herself." His head cocked to the side as he studied her. "Use what you have learned, lovely girl. But do not forget who you are."

"I'm Beth," she said. "Beth Rivers. Not Arya Stark. I only know Arya Stark from the papers. She's been dead for two years."

He nodded once. "Good. You leave this evening. Prepare yourself for they journey."

Arya nodded, standing from her seat and hurrying from the room. She could feel her whole body shaking even despite her claim that she was Beth. Because this... this was exactly what she had been waiting for. This was the point behind these three years of training. Of loneliness. Of pain. Maybe it would finally be worth something.

* * *

_My name is Beth Rivers._

_I am twenty years old._

_I never went to university because I didn't have the money, and I never graduated high school, though I try not to tell employers that._

_I ran away from home at sixteen because my father was an alcoholic and my mother was too narcissistic to notice him hurting me._

_I stayed with an uncle for a while. He worked as a bodyguard and he taught me to fight and defend myself. He trained me to follow in his footsteps._

_He died five months ago protecting a client and left me a bit of money but its running low._

_I need this job._

_I am ideal. I remain calm under pressure. I don't drink or touch drugs. I have an open schedule and will work odd hours. I have never had a criminal record._

_My name is Beth Rivers._

Arya repeatedly rehearsed the story in her head, trying to fade completely into her new name and story. That was the key, they said. To rehearse so much that the truth melted away, and the lie consumed everything. To paint over the old picture until not one bit of it was visible.

Beth Rivers shared many things with Arya Stark. They were only two years apart in age. They didn't drink or do drugs. They hadn't graduated from high school, though for different reasons. They were desperate for this job for different reasons. They were avoiding their families for different reasons.

But Beth Rivers was quiet and reserved and did not speak unless spoken to. People told Arya that she was too loud and asked too many questions.

Beth hated her parents and Arya missed hers every day.

Beth was just a new bodyguard and Arya was so much more.

Most important was the look. To make sure no one in Westeros recognized her, Arya had to transform herself. Her hair was short, but too similar to her old color, so she pinned a red wig to her head and made sure none of her dark hair showed. She slipped color contacts into her eyes—dark brown instead of grey. And she carefully changed the shape of her face with makeup.

As Arya Stark, she almost never wore makeup. Beth Rivers did not either. Not noticeable makeup anyway. But Arya could use shadows to make her nose seem smaller and her eyes narrower. The Braavosi sun tanned her skin, but she added freckles to her cheeks to change it further.

And then there was changing how she carried herself. Arya slouched and sat cross-legged on the ground or sprawled across the chair. Beth Rivers carried her shoulders back, her head held high, and she crossed her legs when she sat. She was a professional. She was poised. Arya practiced moving as Beth during the entire two-day voyage back to Westeros. By the end, she did not even have to think about it. Beth felt natural to her.

This was the real art of the Faceless men. Blending into the role. Leaving one's own name behind and becoming someone else.

It was hard not to feel like Arya Stark though, as she paced the deck of the ship, looking up at the stars. Three years ago she had sailed in the opposite direction, not understanding how much she still had to lose. A silly child who thought she could avenge her father with money alone. Now she was returning to Westeros for the first time. How strange it would be... to walk the streets of King's Landing again.

And then there was what Jaqen had said: _"Beth Rivers is looking for work. But where she works, she may find the one Arya Stark seeks. She will watch and listen, just as she has been taught. And if she is truly a worthy student, she will find the truth herself."_

And she planned to do just that.

Beth Rivers' apartment was located in the slums on the west side of town. It was furnished to look like it belonged to a girl who was trying to stretch her last dollar as far as it would go. A mattress on the floor, almost nothing on the walls, a desk and a chair with a wobbly leg. There was food in the fridge, sparse but fresh, and a clear reminder to Arya that another Faceless Man could access her apartment at any time.

Most importantly, there was a folder on the desk with the information she needed about the job. And _that _was when she found out her potential client's name. Myrcella Baratheon.

On paper, Beth Rivers was an ideal fit. They were around the same age, so Beth could blend into crowds and amongst Myrcella's friends. But the family created issues for Arya Stark.

The Baratheons had long been allies of the Stark family, in part because of her father's close friendship with their old CEO Robert before he died. Myrcella was Robert Baratheon's only daughter. But it wasn't the Baratheons searching for a bodyguard. It was Myrcella's mother. _She _was a Lannister. And that was a problem.

Arya had not interacted with most of the Lannisters. She had never exchanged words with Jaime and Tyrion. Her parents kept her well away from Cersei's war path in the few instances where Arya had knocked her son into the dirt, so the woman had only seen her a few times in passing. Myrcella was in Arya's year at school, but they almost never had classes together and they ran in different social circles. Tommen did not know Arya either. Most of them would not prove any issue.

But Joffrey... Arya had interacted with him many times and in a very negative way. They argued, they clashed, and once she had even broken his nose. But he wasn't the brightest bulb and hopefully, his intense self-focus would distract him.

And then there was Tywin Lannister.

Arya Stark had interacted with the Lannister patriarch exactly four times in her life. Once when she was a child, and they did not even exchange words. Once when she was fourteen and got suspended for punching his grandson in the face. They hadn't exchanged words then either.

And then twice after her father died. The graveyard and his office.

Every interaction had been brief and Arya knew that those encounters were nothing to him. She was just some girl who crossed his path. Three years later, he probably would not notice her even if she went undisguised. But still... it was a little worry in the back of her mind.

At least working on the Lannister payroll would keep her far away from her family, the people most likely to recognize her. The Starks and the Lannisters historically did not get along. They were rivals in business since before Arya was born.

_And they would have a reason to want my father dead._

Jaqen had said this job could lead her to the one who killed her father. Any of the Lannisters could have been responsible. They had the money to put out a hit on someone. They had the money to cover it up.

Arya let out a shaky breath, leaning back in the wobbly desk chair and closing her eyes. She was thinking like Arya Stark. Arya, the stupid girl who thought she could make deals with devils without giving up pieces of herself.

_I am Beth Rivers._

_I need this job._

_I need to be patient._

The Faceless Men would keep their end of the bargain and give her answers at the right time. And then she would handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya has a mission and its going to bring her in contact with familiar faces-but as Beth Rivers not Arya. Next time will be a pretty long chapter but it should be fun. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	6. The Bodyguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sizable chapter this time around, and lots of Arya interacting with the Lannisters (though in disguise as Beth). Enjoy!

The Lannister estate was the largest house in King's Landing by a wide margin. It had its own road on the property and the gate was massive—iron gilded with gold, with sharp spires at the top. Impossible to climb. That was the first thing Arya identified. She was trained to look at any property and look for its weaknesses-and its strengths. And the Lannister estate was strong at first glance.

But that wasn't Beth's first concern. Beth Rivers just wanted a job. So she pressed Arya's thoughts to the back of her mind and brought Beth to the foreground as the taxi pulled up to the gate. She leaned slightly over the driver to speak into the intercom when they asked her business.

"Beth Rivers. I came for the interview for the security team."

The gates creaked open, allowing the car inside. Beth slipped out, quickly paying the driver in cash and heading toward the designated security building. The estate had an entire building _just _for security.

It was hard not to admire the grounds. This place dwarfed the Stark manor in size _and _grandeur. The gardens were perfectly manicured with not one blade of grass out of place, and the drive leading up to the entrance was wide enough to fit an army of cars. In the center of the circular driveway stood a great stone fountain, carved in the image of a roaring lion.

The main house itself was a wonder to look upon, and it shone like a second sun in the light. Gold was the predominant color, lining every balcony and window, and it accented the deep red of the brick. There were too many windows to count and Arya was sure a giant could fit through the great front entrance.

Arya decided it was acceptable to stare. Beth was a professional, but this level of wealth would stun her. It really was more like a castle than a house.

"Rivers?"

Beth turned to look upon an approaching guard. He was a hulking figure with terrible burn scars running down one side of his face. Arya would have asked where he got them. Beth was polite and was sure not to stare or look intimidated. "Yes, that's me."

"Sandor Clegane. Head of Lannister security." He glanced her over. "I hope you're more than you look."

Beth Rivers smiled politely, though Arya slipped a bit of ice beneath it. "Don't worry, sir. I am."

* * *

The security building interior had a utilitarian design, despite the grand exterior. Sparsely furnished hallways and several offices off to either side. But the larger room at the center stunned Beth. It was filled with every piece of exercise equipment imaginable. Punching bags, weights, treadmills. The works. And there was a shooting range along the back side.

"The Lannisters like their security team to keep at the top of their game," Clegane said. "And this gives us a good place to test you out." He plopped down at a table near the wall and gestured for Beth to sit across from him.

He did not look hopeful for this interview, and Beth knew she would have to change that. She sat in front of him, keeping her back straight and her expression impassive.

"We asked the agency for women," Clegane said. "Though I didn't expect them to send someone of your size. Limited pool of options, huh?"

"They told me you needed someone who blended in with young people," Beth said. "I'm good at going unnoticed and I'm young."

"Oh, you'll blend in," Clegane said. "No one will see you when you're in a crowd. Too short for that." He glanced down at her file. "Ever been a bodyguard before?"

"I've been an apprentice to a bodyguard. My uncle. I trained with him."

"Hmm." He grunted. "Firearm experience?"

"Three years."

"Hand to hand combat?"

"Also three years. Multiple styles."

"Have you ever had to use those skills in a life or death scenario?"

Beth hesitated before answering. Arya Stark had. But Beth?

"Yes," she decided quickly. "A few times."

"And how did that go for you?" Clegane glanced up at her.

"I'm still alive, sir," Beth said.

He let out a bark of a laugh. "Guess you are. But why is it you want this job of all things? Bodyguard? Seems strange."

"Would it seem strange if I were a man?" Beth asked. A hint of Arya slipped into her tone and she inwardly cursed herself.

"Aye. If the man was your size," Clegane said. "Not to mention you're young. You're not one of your usual recruits."

"Maybe not," Beth said. "But these are my skills. I can't go to university. I don't have the grades or the money. I'm not suited to customer services. But I can fight and I'm good at blending in. And watching. And listening." She clasped her hands together. "And this job pays well, so I'm told."

"That it does," Clegane said. "Normally, we wouldn't interview someone with your level of experience. But the agency said you're one of the few young women who fits are profile, so we'll see what you can do." He raised an eyebrow. "Did you bring a gun?"

"I... thought it would be inappropriate for an interview," Beth said.

"Smart." Clegane drew a gun from his belt and handed it to her. "Can you use this piece?"

Beth took it in her hand, studying the make and model. Yes. She had shot something close to this before. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Unload it into a target and then bring that target back to me. I'll know if you try to fake it."

Beth obeyed, moving over to the shooting range. She knew some other men in the room were watching her, but she did not spare them a glance as she put on the earmuffs and took her place. She raised her gun. She clicked back the safety.

Arya could hit the center of a still target consistently with most guns, and the audience tempted her to show off. But Beth Rivers knew better. If she was _too _good, that might draw more attention. So she chose her shots carefully. Three in the center ring, two a bit off target and just one in the dead center. Then she retrieved her target and returned it to Clegane.

He raised an eyebrow, some of his earlier cynicism fading as he looked from the target to her. "All right, you can shoot. Guess that doesn't depend on size, does it?" He cracked his neck. "The hand to hand combat will put you at more of a disadvantage."

"I'm used to sparring with people bigger than me," Beth said.

"Yeah, because everyone is bigger than you." He looked behind her. "Trant! I need you to test a potential hire."

The man in question—Trant—stood to his feet, stretching. "The girl? You sure?"

"She'll have to fight off people your size eventually so, might as well," Clegane said. "You can go easy on her if you're so worried."

"Oh no. Not worried at all," Trant said. Arya did not like the way he smiled. Beth pretended not to notice as he moved to the mats in the center of the room and beckoned her closer. "Come on over, sweetheart."

_Ah. He's one of those, _Arya thought. She shoved down her disgust and went to stand across from him.

"Try an attack from behind first," Clegane said. "Let's see how you handle it."

Beth faced away from Trant. But she knew exactly where he was. She could hear his breathing. She felt the give of the mat behind her as he approached. And then his arms flashed in her periphery as he moved to grab her.

She side stepped easily and spun around to face him in the same instant. Trant's brow furrowed in frustration and he took a step forward, trying to grab her again. She ducked beneath his grasp this time, driving her elbow forward into his gut. When he doubled over, she kneed him in the face before backing out of his reach, leaving him cursing.

"Sorry. Too much?" Beth asked.

A slow grin spread across Clegane's face. "Oh no. I think that's just fine, Rivers. We should keep going."

"Fine." Trant shook his head, trying to regain focus. She hadn't broken his nose at least. She was careful to avoid that. It would be impolite on the first day. "I won't hold back this time."

"I thought you already weren't holding back, Trant," Clegane called.

"Fuck off, Hound," Trant spat, squaring up to face Beth again. "Again."

She nodded once. Then waited and watched. He was strong. Stronger than her. She could tell that easily enough. But he was also obvious and he was slow. Slower than the Waif and Jaqen and the other Faceless Men she had fought in the past few years. And on top of that, he wasn't used to sparring against someone as small as her.

His foot shifted before he did, giving her ample warning and she easily weaved around his strikes. Her simple dodging frustrated him. His lips curled back as he came at her again. And she did the same thing. Ducking around him as if it was nothing. His anger built. Good. Anger made people stupid. Anger, fear, arrogance... all emotions that made people falter. How many times had the Waif said the same thing to Arya Stark?

"_You feel too much. It makes you weak."_

Against the Faceless Men yes. But against this man... Beth and Arya felt strong.

At last, he came at her too fast and too wild, expecting another dodge. This time, she struck out with her leg as he went past, letting his own momentum take away his breath. He stumbled to the ground, but did not still when he landed. Instead, he kicked out wildly, scoring a hit on her ankles. She faltered, falling on her back as he got up, trying to get on top of her. She rolled away, vaulting back to her feet and striking him hard he tried to rise. He fell back to the ground and this time he was not so eager to get up.

Clegane's slow clapping echoed throughout the room. "Now _that _was a show," he barked out. "Holding back after all, Trant?"

Trant barred his teeth in a half snarl but Beth barely noticed him. Another woman had entered the room. She wore a well-tailored suit and her golden hair was twisted into an elaborate up-do on her head. Arya knew at once who she was. Cersei Lannister.

"Sorry, Ms. Lannister," Clegane stood. "I didn't see you come in."

"I heard you were interviewing a bodyguard," Cersei looked Beth up and down. "Does she fit the bill?"

"She seems to have everything you're looking for," Clegane said. "I want to put her through a few more tests to be sure."

"Good," Cersei said. "If you decide she's enough, bring her to my office."

Clegane raised an eyebrow. "In the main house?"

"Do you think I have time to wait around until you're finished?" Cersei asked. "Yes, the main house. If she doesn't show up within the hour, I'll assume she isn't good enough."

"Yes, ma'am," Clegane said.

He had barely finished saying the words before she was out the door again.

Clegane looked back to Beth. "That's the mother of your client. And you should know... getting past me is the easy part."

Yes, Beth could see that. It was only natural for a mother to feel protective over her daughter. And this was not a woman to trifle with.

Arya could not help but resent Cersei for how often she let Joffrey get away with murder. And she was on her list of suspects for a far worse crime.

But if she wanted to get this job... Beth would have to win her over.

* * *

Clegane put Beth through a few more physical drills and tested her response to potential scenarios. Beth kept calm throughout and answered every question quickly and precisely. By the end of it all, he seemed pleased and not as cynical as he had been at the start.

"All right then. I suppose I'll let you face the lioness," he said. "Don't beat yourself up if she doesn't like you. This is her daughter we're talking about." He pointed at Beth. "But also, don't fucking embarrass me."

He escorted her to the main building, up the front stairs and through the great double doors. It was hard not to admire the front hall. The high ceilings, the magnificent crystal chandelier, the double stairway running up either side. It was like being inside a castle. She couldn't imagine living in a place like this.

"Come on. Keep up," Clegane said. Beth hurried to follow him down the west wing. After they passed by several doors, he knocked on one toward the end.

"Come in," Cersei Lannister's voice rose from within.

Clegane entered and Beth followed him. The office was not as intimidating as the rest of the house. The rich wood desk reminded her of the one her father's old office.

_No. Beth's father didn't have an office, _she thought. _Beth's father didn't have a desk like this._

She stood in the center of the rug as Clegane passed off her file to Cersei.

"She passed my inspection. It's up to you now, ma'am."

"Thank you, Clegane," Cersei said crisply, accepting the file. She never took her piercing gaze off of Beth. It was easy for Arya to feel exposed under her scrutiny, even though Cersei had only seen her a few times. "You may go."

Clegane nodded and turned to go, casting Beth a 'good luck' glance on his way.

When he left, Cersei gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Sit."

Beth obeyed, sitting quietly as the woman flipped through her file. "Apparently, you have a great deal of physical skill. I saw some of it myself." She glanced up at her. "But very little experience."

"No, ma'am. It's difficult to find experience when I look like this," Beth said. "I trained with my uncle though, so I have minimal experience under him."

"Well, your look makes you suited to this position. Myrcella does not want some hulking figure like Clegane following her around all day." Cersei tossed her file onto the desk. "Have you ever killed someone before, Miss Rivers?"

The question caught Beth and Arya off-guard. "I... don't have a criminal record if that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking," Cersei said. "You see, a lot of the people we hire are veterans. They killed in the line of duty in the wars overseas and they will do so again if the situation calls for it." She tilted her head to the side. "This is my daughter, and if someone threatened her life, I want to know that you are prepared to end them."

Beth's brow furrowed. "Do you expect an attempt on your daughter's life, ma'am?"

"I expect the worst," Cersei said. "We're the most powerful family in this city, and if someone wanted to get to us, they might try to abduct her. It's not that it _will _happen, but it might. Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Beth said without hesitation.

Cersei nodded once, folding her hands together. "If someone harasses Myrcella, you diffuse the situation. If they put hands on her, you put hands on them. And if they endanger her life, you put their life in danger." She adjusted a clock on her desk. "If you can capture assailants alive, I encourage it. It's important that we question anyone who tries to hurt our family. If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible."

Beth was tempted to think of Cersei Lannister as paranoid in that moment, but Arya understood her fears. Someone murdered Arya's father and threatened the rest of her family. She would do anything to keep them safe. The real question was whether Cersei was involved in her father's death.

"I understand," Beth said, pushing Arya to the back of her mind.

"Good," Cersei said. "Most of the places you accompany Myrcella will be social gatherings. Parties, pubs, and the like. You're eighteen and you may find yourself caught up in a crowd of famous names. Under no circumstances are you forget you are working and get distracted or drink on the job."

"No danger of that, ma'am," Beth said. "I don't drink."

Cersei's eyes narrowed when she smiled. "I don't recommend lying to make yourself look more ideal."

"It's not a lie," Beth said. "I don't touch alcohol or any other substance. It's a personal choice. I like to stay focused." She lifted her chin. "I'm here to work and that's what I'll do."

Cersei studied her for a long moment. Beth thought she discerned the slightest twinkle in her green eyes. Approval. That was what Beth needed.

"All right then. I'll call Myrcella down to meet you. If you're guarding her, that's the first step."

"Do I... have the job then, ma'am?" Beth ventured cautiously.

"Yes, I thought that was obvious," Cersei said, scooping her phone off the desk. "Do you think I would let you meet my daughter if I didn't mean to hire?"

Beth fought a smile of pride, because that was too much like Arya. "Thank you, ma'am."

Cersei waved her hand dismissively, putting the phone to her ear. Someone answered on the third ring.

"_Mom?" _Beth heard a faint voice through the speaker. _"Aren't you in the house?"_

"Yes, but this is faster than shouting up the stairs, Myrcella," Cersei said. "Come down to my office. I want you to meet your new bodyguard."

Beth heard a distinct groan from the other end. _"Mom, we talked about this. I don't need one."_

"We talked about it, and the discussion is over," Cersei said crisply. "Now." She hung up her phone, glancing back to Beth. "She's well behaved. I don't expect her to give you much trouble. The real danger is she may try to make you into a friend. Keep a professional boundary."

"I will," Beth said.

Arya couldn't help but question that "well behaved" claim. Any child would seem obedient compared to Cersei's eldest son. Joffrey was one of those boys who thought laws and rules were optional to anyone who had enough money. Arya did not remember much about Myrcella, so she could not say if she was truly well behaved or if Cersei was just blind to her children's faults.

The door behind her opened and Beth turned to see her client. Myrcella Baratheon.

She was a beautiful girl who took after her mother. Golden waves, green eyes, flawless skin. But her expression was sweeter than Cersei's. When she saw Beth, her eyes widened.

"Oh." She slowly closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting a woman. Or... someone so young."

"You said you didn't want your bodyguard to be obvious," Cersei said.

"I know, I just didn't think you'd listen," Myrcella said, looking Beth up and down. "Hello."

"Hello, Miss Baratheon." Beth stood, offering a hand. "My name is Beth Rivers."

"Myrcella. But I suppose you already knew that." Myrcella accepted her hand. "It's so good to meet you. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're not some older man."

"So am I," Beth replied, not sure what else to say to that. "But I still plan to be professional, Miss. My first concern is protecting you."

"I'm sure you will." Myrcella gave her hand a quick squeeze before dropping it and glancing to her mother. "Does this mean I'm allowed to go out tonight without you fretting?"

"I'll always fret. I'm your mother," Cersei said. "But I'll fret less if Miss Rivers is prepared to work tonight."

"I'm prepared," Beth said. "But I'm not sure if they have a uniform in my size."

"I can dress you," Myrcella said eagerly.

"Myrcella," Cersei spoke her name like a warning.

"Just for tonight," Myrcella said. "She has to blend with me and my friends. Don't worry, I'll pick something very... what was it? Professional." She flashed Beth a grin.

Once again, Beth blanked on how to respond, so instead she looked to Cersei. "Ma'am?"

"Yes, all right. For tonight," Cersei sighed. "Usually, you won't be in the main house, Miss Rivers. Don't get used to this."

"Understood," Beth said.

"Yes, yes, understood. Come on now," Myrcella clasped Beth's hand in hers and pulled her along toward the door. It opened before she touched the handle. And Beth found herself looking up at Tywin Lannister.

Panic. That was her instinctual reaction. Tywin's gaze locked on her and for a moment fear filled her. The fear of being recognized. It was Arya's fear, not Beth's. That even though it had been three years since they last crossed paths, he would see through her disguise.

_You are not Arya Stark. You are Beth. Beth Rivers._

Beth released a breath and let her expression calm. And Tywin's gaze flicked away from her to Myrcella. "Who's this?"

"My new bodyguard, Beth Rivers," Myrcella said.

"Bodyguard. Really." He, like everyone else seemed doubtful.

"Yes, I just hired her," Cersei said. "Someone to blend in."

"I see," Tywin said.

"Beth, this is my grandfather. Tywin Lannister. Don't let him scare you," Myrcella said.

_Too late for that, _Arya thought.

"It's nice to meet you," Beth said softly. Because this man would likely intimidate Beth. He intimidated Arya too, and that annoyed her.

"And you," Tywin said. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he looked to Myrcella. "Run along. I need to speak to your mother."

"Yes grandfather," Myrcella said, flashing a smile like sunshine. Arya wondered how she had come from _this _line of people. Tywin to Cersei to Myrcella. Had this kindness come from her father? No, Arya didn't remember Robert being sweet. Loud and friendly but not... sweet.

Before Arya could think much more on it, Myrcella pulled Beth along after her. She almost let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind them. He hadn't seen. He didn't know.

She supposed Jaqen was right. People saw what they wanted to see. You just had to give them a good picture.

* * *

When his granddaughter had disappeared with her new bodyguard, Tywin glanced back at Cersei. "She seems a strange choice."

"The agency sent her," Cersei said. "And Clegane thought she qualified. She was dancing circles around Trant when I saw her."

"Hmm." Tywin responded.

"This is the modern age, Father," Cersei said. "Women are in many strange professions."

"That's not my worry," Tywin said. "She seemed uneasy when I was in the room."

"You're Tywin Lannister. _Of course _she was an uneasy," Cersei said dismissively. "The girl probably never dreamed of setting foot in a house like this before today. You think she's used to people like us?"

Yes, but she had been uneasy before Myrcella introduced him. Tywin supposed she could have recognized him from the paper but she clearly knew him the moment she saw him.

"So you think she's trustworthy then?" Tywin asked. "No secrets that should concern us?"

"I'm sure she has secrets. An twenty-year-old girl who sees this kind of job as her only option? I'll admit it is strange." Cersei shrugged. "But her record is clean, she's professional enough, and according to her interview, she's qualified. You are welcome to interrogate her yourself if you have doubts."

"No." Tywin shook his head. "It would be redundant and I don't have the time. I came to discuss this." He tossed an envelope onto the desk. Cersei picked it up and slid out the letter. She sighed before she had even read the contents.

"This is for the King's Landing Charity Gala, isn't it?"

"It's the same time every year. You shouldn't be surprised," Tywin said.

"I'm not surprised. Just annoyed," Cersei said. "It's just a game of every wealthy family in Westeros pretending that they care about something other than their image and business. And the Tyrells always win."

"They do," Tywin agreed. "I don't care about that. They're our business partners now. I would rather they win the game than the Starks."

"And I would rather not play the game at all. Just write a check and be done with it."

"That's not an option and you know it," Tywin said. Though honestly, he agreed. The gala was an insufferable affair. Every wealthy person King's Landing used it to paint a saintly picture for the press, when in reality they were only giving up a barely noticeable chunk of money. And putting off a saintly picture had never been Tywin's strong suit. "No choice but to tolerate it. Any of our absences will be noted and used in a narrative against us."

Cersei sighed. "Fine then. Is the whole family going?"

"Everyone involved in the business," Tywin said. "It would not hurt to bring Tommen and Myrcella. You should also convince Jaime to come."

Cersei smirked. "Oh, there's nothing he would hate more, Father. You know that."

"Yes, I know that. That's why I'm not the one asking him," Tywin said. Though even Cersei had a hard time reaching Jaime since the accident. "It's just for posterity."

"And so everyone can start speculating about whether he's finally joining the business," Cersei said. "He'll see through that, Father."

"See through it or not, make sure he goes," Tywin said.

"I expect we're not inviting Tyrion?" Cersei asked.

"No. Not unless he suddenly grows a sense of propriety," Tywin said.

"And Joffrey?" Cersei asked. "What do we do about him?"

Tywin sighed. That was the tricky one. On one hand, he was a potential heir to the Baratheon company one day since his father had wanted him to have it. It was better for the Lannisters if he took control. Then the Starks would lose a great deal of footing with their old business partner.

On the other hand... gods he was just so insufferable, especially with the press.

"I'll leave that to your discretion," Tywin said. "But if he comes, make sure he understands that he needs to be on his best behavior."

"Joffrey doesn't know the meaning of the word these days," Cersei said.

"Fine. Then tell him that if he doesn't behave, I'm cutting him off," Tywin said. "He should understand the meaning of that."

Cersei nodded once, running a hand through her golden hair. "Yes. He should."

She wasn't suited to these kinds of events any more than Tywin. They were just a necessity. The Lannister family had no choice but to present an air of strength and dignity. If they showed any small bit of weakness, their competitors would notice.

The world of King's Landing was as much a game of publicity as it was of business. And everyone had their own masks to wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is in and no one has her figured out...yet ;) Thanks everyone for all of your reviews so far. Its been kind of fun starting a new fic like this and picking up a few new readers. Until Monday, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	7. The First Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Its mostly Arya with the youngest of the Lannister/Baratheons this chapter, so Myrcella and Tommen fans will enjoy. And hopefully the rest of you as well!

Myrcella's room looked like that of a princess. Everything was white, pink and gold, and elegant to the extreme. The four-poster bed reminded Arya of the one in Sansa's room, though hers was blue rather than pink, and she had a closet that could fit another bed if need be. Her sister would have envied the size of it.

"_Beth doesn't have a sister named Sansa," _Arya reminded herself as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"You're a little shorter than me, but I think we're about the same size," Myrcella said, flipping through her closet. "I can find something that works."

"Something simple," Beth said. "Remember Miss, I should blend in."

"It's a night out. You have to dress up to blend in," Myrcella gave her a look. "And you don't have to call me Miss, Beth. Myrcella is fine."

"I think I will anyway, Miss."

Myrcella exhaled. "I can see why my mother liked you. She likes it when our employees don't act like equals." She pulled out a green dress from the closet, glancing Beth up and down. "This would look nice."

"No dresses," Beth said. "If I have to fight, I need something more practical."

"You're probably _not _going to fight you know," Myrcella said. "You're just a precaution."

"Yes, but I prepare for the worst, Miss."

Myrcella sighed. "Later, then." She went back to looking. "So how did you end up as a bodyguard, Beth?"

"My uncle was one," Beth said. "And I've always been good at self-defense."

"Well, I'm glad you're here. You have no idea how worried I was," Myrcella said. "It's hard enough to make friends when you're half Lannister because everyone is afraid of your family. It would have been even more difficult with some hulking bodyguard following me around." She found a pretty green top, the same color as the dress, and tossed it onto the bed. "I understand why mother worries, but I'm not trying to do anything reckless or dangerous. I just want to meet people like everyone else."

Beth did not reply, but she was silently grateful that Myrcella was a talker. If the Faceless Men wanted her to gather any intel, talkers were her greatest asset.

"But then someone tried to put something in my drink," Myrcella said. "And Mom lost her mind. I didn't even drink it but..." She sighed. "Gods, I wish sometimes that I could go somewhere where no one knows my name. You understand, right?"

Beth rubbed her hands together. "Yes. But all the same... you should hold on to your name. It may bring some challenges but... not having it would be harder."

Myrcella studied her for a long moment and Arya cursed herself for saying such a strange thing.

"I suppose that's true," Myrcella said, tossing a jacket and a pair of dark jeans onto the bed. "All right, I think these will work. Put them on. I can leave the room, don't worry."

_You just met me, _Arya thought absently. _I could steal something while you're away._

Beth just nodded. "Yes, Miss."

Once Myrcella was out of the room, she let out a long breath and pulled out her phone, shooting a quick text to Jaqen.

_Beth Rivers is in. On the job now. Will wait for any further instructions._

Then she hurried to slip on Myrcella's clothes. The jeans fit fine on her though they were too long, and she had to roll up the cuffs. But the blouse and jacket worked well enough, though it was tight on her arms. She had more muscle than Myrcella.

She checked herself in the mirror, making sure her hair and face hadn't shifted. Arya was barely visible in the reflection. It really was like looking at a stranger.

The knock at the door startled her. "Are you done, Beth?"

"Yes," Beth said, turning to face the door. Myrcella reentered, this time dragging someone else behind her. For a moment, Beth thought it might be Joffrey, but it relieved her to see it was the other brother. Tommen. He was the sweet one if she remembered correctly.

"You look good!" Myrcella beamed. "You're actually really pretty, Beth."

"Oh...I..." Beth stumbled over her words, but that was Arya's fault. Three years ago, no one ever called her that word or anything similar, except perhaps her family. She didn't know how to take it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Myrcella pushed her brother ahead. He his golden-haired and green eyed just like her with a kind, though nervous smile. "This is Tommen, my younger brother. He's coming out with us. Tommen, this is Beth Rivers."

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Beth extended a hand.

"Sir? You don't have to call me sir," Tommen said, accepting the hand.

"She won't listen," Myrcella said, disappearing into her bathroom. "She calls me Miss. Very professional."

"Explains why mother hired her."

"That's what I said."

Tommen realized he was still holding onto Beth's hand and quickly dropped it. "So... bodyguard, huh? That's cool. None of the rest of our security team looks like you." His brow furrowed. "I'm actually not sure if any of them are women at all."

"There have been a few that have come and gone," Myrcella called out. She was in the process of touching up her hair and makeup. "But not many. I think some men on our security team are... hard to work with. Like Merryn Trant. You should watch out for him, Beth. I've heard stories from some of our maids."

"We've met," she said mildly. And yes, she pegged him as someone she needed to watch, especially since she had humiliated him earlier. That could be trouble later. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself." She glanced at Tommen. "I'm sorry for asking but are you... allowed to go out? I mean, do you have your own guard?"

"He's allowed," Myrcella said. "Mother doesn't worry about _his _safety as much because he's a boy. But I'm sure you can look out for the both of us, can't you?"

"Yes, I can," Beth said. "I just wanted to make sure you had permission. I'd rather not get fired my first day on the job."

"You won't. I'll make sure of it." Myrcella flounced out of the bathroom, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Not one eyelash was out of place on her face. This was a goddamn good-looking family if nothing else. "Then Mother would have to find some other bodyguard and I bet they wouldn't be nearly as fun as you."

"I'm not here to be fun, Miss."

"Yes, yes, I _know_." She looped her arm through Beth's. "But you will let us have fun without mother worrying. Come on, Tommen, the night is young!"

Beth glanced back at Tommen who gave her an apologetic smile as Myrcella pulled her along. This was not something she was used to after three years in Braavos. In fact, it wasn't something Arya was _ever _used to.

A lifetime ago, Sansa had been the pretty one who ran in the same circles as Myrcella and Arya had been a shadow who watched them from the distance. When she started secondary school, some girls and boys called her horse face, but once she got older, they stopped noticing her all together. She didn't know how to dress well, nor did she care to try. Makeup had always eluded her. So she watched the prettier girls from a distance.

Some days she resented them and wished she could be as effortlessly pretty. Some days she looked down on them. It really depended on the moment. But that was all very distant now.

For now, her task was protecting Myrcella and keeping her eyes and ears open. Whether or not she was used to the situation, she had to adapt.

That was what it was to be a Faceless man.

* * *

Beth had to stop by the security building to get her equipment first. She could hide her holster beneath her jacket well enough and the new gun fit well in her hand. She had shot this piece before and was confident in her ability to use it if needed.

"Don't fuck up tonight," Clegane said. "You're a fresh hire, so the lioness will look for you to fail."

"Understood, sir," Beth said.

The driver, Phillip, had already picked up Myrcella and Tommen when Beth left the building and he pulled up beside her.

"Get in!" Myrcella crowed. "Come on, we don't want to be late."

_Late for what, _Beth wondered. Taverns and pubs in King's Landing were open until all hours and the sun had barely set. But then, maybe Myrcella was just eager to get out of the house again.

They ended up at the Gold Street Pub near the center of the city. It was a ritzy bar known for expensive drinks and high paying customers. It was also known for letting under aged teens drink if they paid enough money, but they never got busted by the cops. The privilege of being rich. Myrcella, at least, was of age, though Tommen wasn't. Beth would watch him just as carefully. Cersei Lannister had hired Beth to protect her daughter, but if she let anything happen to her son... well, she didn't imagine the lioness would be pleased.

Myrcella tried to coax Beth into getting a drink with them, but she refused on the grounds of being professional. Instead, she took up a place near the wall that gave her a good line of sight. The bar was packed with people, but from this angle she had eyes on Myrcella and anyone who went close to her drink.

Myrcella was popular. Many people in the bar knew her and more than one boy offered to buy her a drink. She declined most of them, except for one boy with curly dark hair and light brown skin. Arya did not recognize him from school, but he looked Dornish. She made a note of him as a potential threat, but he seemed friendly enough and his hand never touched Myrcella's drink.

Once, Tommen slipped over to join Beth on the wall. "You're sure you don't want a drink? I know they're expensive here, but I can get you one."

"No, thank you," Beth said. "I don't drink, so it's not a question of money."

"Not even wine?"

"No. Not even wine." Beth shrugged. "Personal choice."

"I don't drink much either. I mean, I'm technically not allowed to but... I don't like the taste very much."

Beth's mouth twitched. "I hear it's acquired."

"That's what they say," Tommen said. "But I only choke the stuff down when I'm out with friends and I haven't acquired it yet."

"You don't need to do that, you know," Beth said. "Who cares what they think? Drink what you want." Tommen gave her a look, and she cursed herself. That was too much of Arya creeping into her voice. "Sorry, sir. That wasn't my place."

"No, it's fine." Tommen smiled at her. "Well, whether or not you drink, you don't have to stand up against the wall. You can meet some people if you want."

"I'm fine," Beth insisted. "Go have fun."

They stayed at that bar for an hour before going onto the next one, along with another crowd of rich kids who were getting progressively more inebriated. They walked in a crowd, shouting up at the stars, singing off key. Myrcella swung one of her friends around in circles, laughing like a girl with no cares in the world. And Beth trailed behind him, never taking her eyes off her.

A worry passed through the back of her mind. A worry that belonged to Arya. A lot of these teens and young adults seemed like Sansa's people when she was in school. What if she came out with them or met them at a bar? Would Arya be able to hide behind Beth's freckles and brown eyes and red hair then?

She shook the thought away. Of course she could. She was not _hiding _behind Beth. She was Beth. And she knew how to go unnoticed when she needed to. Despite going to multiple bars in the next few hours, full of drunk boys with nothing to lose, none of them noticed Beth standing against the wall or tried to buy her a drink. Because Beth was nothing more than a shadow to them, slipping between the bright lights of King's Landing. She was only seen when she needed to be.

Close to midnight, she could see Myrcella was becoming a bit drunk, and she knew she should get her back to the car soon. Tommen was still sober enough, and he seemed to watch out for her, sliding her a glass of water every once in a while. It was good that they two of them had each other when their older brother was such an absolute waste of space.

And that's when the man approached her.

He was older, probably in his early thirties, and very drunk. He leaned against the bar between Tommen and Myrcella, all but physically shoving the boy away. Beth could not hear what he said to her, but she saw Myrcella's shoulders hitch in discomfort.

Beth's eyes narrowed, and she made her way through the crowd, weaving in and out of the mass of people. She caught some words as she got closer.

"—one drink, darling. I know you're a rich girl and you don't need a guy to buy you anything. But I'll show you a good time on the other side of the tracks."

"I don't... no thank you..."

Cersei's words echoed through her head. _"If someone harasses her, diffuse the situation."_

Beth came up to Myrcella's other side. "I think it's time we go," she said. "The driver is close."

Myrcella looked grateful to see her. "Yes. You're right. We should go."

"Hey, not yet," the man pushed off the bar, standing to his full height. "Don't ignore me, darling. I offered a drink. Don't be impolite."

"She doesn't want your drink," Tommen said, circling back to his sister's side. "Come on. Let's go."

"I said _wait_," the drunk said, reaching out and seizing Myrcella's arm.

_If they put hands on her, you put hands on them._

Beth's hand locked around the man's arm in an instant and her other hand came up to grasp the back of his head. Before he could blink, she slammed his head to the bar with a loud _crack_ that echoed throughout the room.

There was silence as the drunk groaned and slumped to the ground, unconscious. It had the intended effect. He wasn't touching Myrcella anymore. Everyone nearby turned to look and Myrcella stared at the man, wide eyed. A delirious laugh escaped her lips.

"Wow, Beth."

Beth looked back to the bartender. "Apologies. We'll be going now." Then she moved forward, resting a hand on Myrcella's back and guiding her out into the street.

As soon as they were out into the cold air, Myrcella turned and caught her up in a hug before Beth could avoid it.

"That was _amazing_, Beth. So amazing."

"It was cool," Tommen was practically jumping up and down. "Guess they hired you for a reason, right? Do you think you broke something?"

"No," Beth said. "But I... might have concussed him."

Myrcella laughed, taking Beth's hands in hers and spinning her around. "You're amazing, amazing, amazing. I don't have to worry when you're around, do I?"

A little smile cracked across Beth's face. It had been some time since she had heard praise for anything she had done. For the past three years, Arya only heard insults. She needed to be faster. Stronger. Better. She was too weak. It wasn't enough.

The word 'amazing' made her feel warm in spite of herself.

* * *

Cersei had not gone to sleep. She rarely did when her children were still out and about. Except for Joffrey. If she waited until _he _came home, she would go days without a proper sleep. But Myrcella and Tommen... they were still with her and if they did not come home, she would have a real reason to fret.

Close to 1:00 AM, she heard the front door open and a chorus of laughter. She stepped out of the parlor to see them in the front hall. The new bodyguard was between them looking as if she would rather be anywhere else.

"I'm really not supposed to be in the main house, Miss."

"You won't be here long," Myrcella said. "But you have to return your clothes, you know."

"Yes, but..." Beth noticed Cersei and straightened quickly. At least she was trying to be professional, which could not have been easy around her daughter and son. They made friends too readily. But at least she was stone cold sober, so her earlier statements hadn't been a lie. "Sorry, ma'am. Did we disturb you?"

"No," Cersei sipped her wine. "I was staying up to make sure they returned home."

"Mother!" Myrcella beamed and flounced over. She was tipsy, though at least she was happy to be so. Cersei couldn't remember the last time she had been _happy _drunk. The privilege of youth. "You should hear what happened tonight. Beth was amazing."

"Was she?" Cersei glanced up at the bodyguard.

The girl shook her head. "I just did my job, ma'am. It wasn't amazing."

"It was," Tommen disagreed. "Some guy tried to grab Myrcella because she wouldn't take a drink. Beth _slammed _his head into a bar. I don't think he got up. She moved so fast."

Cersei raised an eyebrow and Beth shrugged.

"He put hands on her."

Cersei's mouth twitched. "Yes. Well, as Miss Rivers says, I wouldn't call it amazing. It's what we're paying her for." She gave a little wave toward the stairs. "You may change quickly and leave. Report back to Clegane in the morning."

Beth gave her a nod. "Understood, ma'am." Then she let Myrcella pull her along up the stairs.

Cersei watched them go, tilting her head to the side. Beth was an extraordinary find. When she asked the agency, she knew she was unlikely to find someone that Myrcella _wanted _as a guard. A girl so young with no field experience shouldn't be such an ideal candidate, but she was. Almost like someone had tailor-made her to fit the bill.

Perhaps she was hiding something, like her father suggested. She was a closed off girl. But so long as she did her job and protected Myrcella, Cersei didn't much care.

She wouldn't be the only one in this house with secrets.

* * *

When Arya arrived home, she checked her phone and found a reply from Jaqen.

_Work hard and well. Watch and listen. Wait for instructions._

A vague assignment, but she had expected as much. Jaqen told her to practice patience and she would do exactly that.

And try not to speculate too much on why she was there... and what the Faceless Men meant for her to do here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Arya proving herself while still maintaining her disguise. For those of you wondering where the Starks are, they'll be coming in again soon for sure. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	8. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you asking where Jaime was, he is here! Mostly him this chapter, though there's also Brienne, Cersei and Joffrey (everyone's favorite). It was particularly fun to write Cersei and Jaime when incest isn't on the table. It's a decision I made because I honestly think its very unlikely to happen in a modern setting without incestuous Targaryens as historical figures so...yep. They're just twins in this one, which was kind of a unique challenge for their relationship.

Jaime's apartment had become a hazardous zone. He could hardly walk around these days without tripping over something. And yet, despite the endless time he had stretched before him, he could not find the energy to clean the place.

Any professional would call him depressed... if he went to a professional. But Jaime had no desire to subject himself to a long session of talking about his feelings. He didn't need to "get to the root of the issue". He _knew _the root of the issue. He was depressed because he lost a fucking hand.

Five months. That's how long it had been since the incident. The KLPD got a call about a hostage situation and he answered it. But things had gone badly and a shotgun at point blank range took off most of his hand.

_You're lucky it wasn't your head, _the doctor had told him later, after he had amputated the rest of the ruined flesh to Jaime's wrist. But in that moment, Jaime didn't feel lucky at all.

Next thing he knew, he was on medical leave, no longer fit to serve with only one hand. There were too many things that would be too difficult for him now. Driving, handling a gun, and even writing reports. So much to relearn that made him unfit as an officer. He wouldn't even do well at a desk job because he would be half as efficient as all the others who had both hands.

Gods, it made him furious. It wasn't like he needed the money, but he needed something to do with his day, and being a cop had been the only thing he was really good at. After the second war in the Free Cities ended, it seemed a natural fit. Something that still used his skills. So he joined the force.

His father had been furious about it. Jaime was his eldest son. He should learn the business and rise in the company. That was the life his father had planned for him since he was born. But he did not have a knack for any of it. So he had ignored his father's wishes.

And now he had lost a hand. He wondered sometimes if his father had a direct line with the gods or if he himself was a god bound in human form, bringing down judgement on Jaime for defying him.

After the accident, his father had asked him to come home and start taking responsibility. That had been quite a fight between them, and Jaime hadn't talked to him since then. Mostly he heard what was happening in the family through Cersei.

A knock came at the door. "Jaime, open up. I know you're in there."

Jaime sighed. _Speaking of which._

He stumbled his way to the door and opened it up. Cersei breezed into his apartment, looking around with an expression of undisguised disgust. "Gods, Jaime. This is how you live? You can _afford _a maid, you know."

"Hello to you too," Jaime said. "Take your shoes off. Wouldn't want to track mud into my pristine apartment."

"If I take my shoes off in this place, I think I'd end up in the hospital," Cersei picked her way through the apartment until she reached the kitchen table. His work was still spread out across it. Old copies of files from cases he had never solved. He liked to look them over and torture himself every once in a while. "You should let all of this go, Jaime. It's been five months. You're not a cop anymore. Time to move on."

"Been speaking with father?" Jaime asked.

"Obviously. I work for him. Like _you _should," Cersei said.

"Yes, it clearly makes you very happy." Jaime leaned back against the wall.

"It's not about happiness. It's about our obligation to the family," she said.

He pointed at her. "See that? That's _definitely _a direct quote from father."

She glared at him. "I swear to the gods... you and Tyrion don't know the meaning of the word responsibility."

"Well, you drink too much," Jaime said. He could tell just by looking at her she had already had more than one glass of wine and it was just after noon. Not that he blamed her. Playing General Counsel to the Lannister Corporation had to make one want to drink all the time. "So I guess we all have our faults."

"Tyrion _also _drinks too much," Cersei pointed out.

"That's true," Jaime said. "So both Tyrion and I are irresponsible. You and Tyrion are alcoholics. What do we share, sweet sister?"

She thought about it for a moment. "We're tall."

He laughed at that and she grinned too, in spite of herself. Even Tyrion would have chuckled if he was here. A rare joke from Cersei was meant to be cherished.

The three of them had been close once. Well... not Cersei and Tyrion. They had been snapping at each other since Tyrion learned enough vocabulary to argue. Jaime was the mediator between them. But lately, he had felt distant from both of his siblings. They all lived in such different worlds now. Cersei worked hard for their father, Tyrion worked hard at irritating their father and Jaime... did not work at all. Perhaps that was adulthood—watching one's siblings become strangers with each passing year.

He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table, sliding around one picture absently. "You know the business is better off without me. You're the one who has a knack for it. Well... you and Tyrion but... we all know how things are between him and father." He shrugged. "I would be a liability."

"Well, you can't read a contract," Cersei agreed, sitting down in front of him. "And you don't have any of the schooling. But you have something else."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Personality," Cersei said. "You charm people without trying. They like your smile. They want to make you happy. In negotiations, that can be lethal."

"So that's what Father is after? My charm?" Jaime asked.

"Yes. Well, that and he wants to train you to take over for him," Cersei said.

"He should train you," Jaime said. They both knew it. Cersei and Tyrion were both good at that sort of thing. But Cersei was the only one between the two of them who _wanted _to please father. If only he would see that... but Tywin Lannister saw whatever he wanted to see.

Cersei drummed her fingers against the table. "I fell out of his favor a long time ago."

"We all did," Jaime said. "I became a _cop_. You think that gained me favor in his eyes?"

"No," Cersei said. "But you're the golden son, Jaime. You can get away with anything you want... but if you came back to the house with me right now and said you wanted to join the family business... he'd forget all of it."

Jaime sighed. Yes. He would.

Cersei stood abruptly and went to the kitchen. "Do you have any wine in this place?"

"No," Jaime said. "Whisky."

"Good enough." She found the bottle and poured a shallow glass for them both. He raised an eyebrow.

"Remember what we said about your drinking problem?"

"Fuck off, Jaime." She sat down at the table and slid the glass across to him. "Anyway, I came here for a reason."

"Really? And here I thought you came here to criticize my life choices."

"No, though I could keep going on that a while yet." She sighed. "Father wants you to come to the charity gala."

Jaime cursed inwardly, swiping up the glass and taking a long drink. "I can't think of anything worse."

"I told him you'd say that," Cersei said. "Come on. I'm going to suffer through it. You may as well give me some company."

"I won't have time to be much company for you," Jaime said, standing. "Let me tell you what will happen. The moment I walk in there, every one of our shareholders and business partners will spot me and wander over. They'll ask 'how have you been' as if they care and then they'll stare at my stump of an arm and say 'real shame about that'. And then, once they're done feigning sympathy, they'll ask about the business. Am I coming back to work for the family? Am I _finally _stepping up? And I'll fumble through an answer while I flash a winning smile." He finished the rest of his drink. "And I'll do that at least one thousand times."

"Well, seems you have it all figured out," Cersei said dryly. "Should give you time to practice."

"It's just... painful, Cersei," Jaime said.

"It's one night," Cersei said. "I deal with those fucking shareholders and business partners every day. When they ask about you. When they ask about my children. When they question my judgement on the contracts and try to subvert my authority, because I'm a woman, and they think they know better." She finished her drink. "If I can put up with that all day, you can put up with it for one fucking night."

Jaime had nothing to say to that. He knew that Cersei's job wasn't easy, but then she chose to do it. Why should he return to it when he'd been fighting his whole life to escape?

"Father is extending an olive branch, Jaime," Cersei said. "You know he doesn't do that often. He might only do it with _you_, actually. Just... please. Come. Promise me."

Jaime studied her for a long time before nodding. "All right. I'll be there."

"Good." She set down her glass. "When you come, shave. You look like a vagrant."

"I love you too, sweet sister."

She flipped him the bird as she made her way to the door which was a good enough goodbye. When the door slammed shut, Jaime was left alone in this mess of his apartment, already regretting his promise. He'd heard tell that his brother Tyrion was throwing a party on the same night as the gala, and he would much rather attend that. He would much rather sit on his couch with a bottle of booze to be frank.

But Cersei was right. She was on the front lines of dealing with their father and giving her reinforcements every once in a while was the least he could do.

With a resigned sigh, he wandered back over to the kitchen table where some of his old files lay scattered. His unsolved cases. The thing he used to pretend he was still a detective.

This morning he had been looking at the case of a girl named Ros who was murdered nine months ago. She was a high-class call girl, known for visiting wealthy clients. She was a professional, of course. Never gave away any names. But perhaps one of her clients hadn't trusted that and killed her.

He thought about her case because another call girl had turned up dead that morning. Sex workers in King's Landing had a dangerous profession. But every time one died, Jaime couldn't help but wonder if there was some kind of connection.

Probably not. Most murders didn't have a connection between them. They were random acts of rage or coldly plotted acts of revenge. And then when it was over, the murderer moved on and spent the rest of their life glancing over their shoulder, worrying about whether they would be caught. Sometimes they were. Sometimes they weren't.

In this case, they were rarely caught. Most people in King's Landing didn't care about a dead call girl.

This one, Ros, had fallen on the back burner after they discovered Arya Stark's body two years ago, because a great deal of people cared about a murder girl from a wealthy family. Looking at their two files next to each other, they were as different as two victims could get. Red-haired vs. brunette. Poor vs. rich. "Lady of the Night" vs. "Innocent young girl".

No one cared about Ros. Everyone cared about Arya Stark.

His brow furrowed as he looked over Ros' pictures again and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the corner of one peeking out from behind. It was a picture taken of her pale wrist, which was tattooed with a set of bird wings. Common enough as a tattoo but...

_Wait._

Jaime hurried to the computer, searching up the girl they had found a few days ago. She was a Jane Doe because her face had been so badly bashed in. But there was a description of her on the news websites. Dark-haired, dark-skinned. But it was one particular detail he had remembered. A tattoo on her wrist. Bird wings.

There was no picture of it so he couldn't compare them. But he was sure they had a picture at the station. He found himself calling the chief before he could stop himself. It was something. A small connection, but it was something that made him feel useful.

"Hello?"

"Chief Selmy," Jaime said. "Sorry to bother you. I just had a question."

"Lannister," Barristan Selmy's voice was already exasperated. "We've talked about this. You're on leave. I'm not giving you any information on any cases."

"I know, I know." Jaime paced back and forth through his apartment, his foot knocking into the coffee table as he passed. He bit back a curse. "Its just... I noticed something about an old case. Maybe something small, but I just wanted to be sure. Can you just...pull up the file on that Jane Doe they found a few days ago?"

"No. I can't," Selmy said. "Because it's not your business. The other detectives here will handle it because it's their job."

"I'm not trying to be difficult, chief," Jaime said. "I'm trying to help."

Selmy sighed heavily. "I know you are. But... and I mean this in the kindest possible way Jaime: you need to stop trying."

Jaime sank slowly onto the couch. "Fine... all right." He glared down at his stump of a hand, the very thing that had landed him in this position. "Sorry for bothering you."

He hung up the phone, fighting the urge to chuck it across the room. No. He wasn't done yet. He shot a quick text to one of his old coworkers, Janos Slynt. He hated the man, but he would never turn down a request from a Lannister.

_J: Who is working the Jane Doe case?_

It was two minutes before he responded.

_JS: Tarth._

Jaime's stomach twisted. Ah. Brienne. Fuck. The one person at headquarters who would absolutely not want to talk to him. Wonderful.

_J: Thanks._

_JS: Anytime._

Jaime hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch. Ah, of all the people in the world. Jaime had been well liked in his department, though there were a few who saw him as a rich, pretty boy who didn't belong. He won most of them over with the so called 'charm' that Cersei said he had. Brienne though...

They had not gotten off on the right foot.

She was a giant of a woman, with broad shoulders, even taller than him by a few inches. Not what you would call graceful and certainly not what most men would call pretty. She had become a bit of a laughingstock in the department and Jaime... well he had joined in on the insults more than once.

But gods dammit... If his life grew much duller, he would have no choice but to turn to his father's company and that was a fucking horrendous idea. So he steeled himself and snapped up his phone once again, scrolling through. He had her number. She was in his phone as 'wench'.

_Ah. Good. More proof that she will not want to talk to me, _he thought.

The phone rang five times before she picked up. "What do you want, Lannister?"

"Ah... hello," he said. "Tarth. Good to..." He shook his head. No greeting he could give would sound genuine. "I don't mean to bother you, but I hear you're on the case for that prostitute who was found dead a few days ago?"

"Yes," she said. Her voice was suspicious, as if he expected him to turn it into some joke.

"Well... I was looking through some old case files and I may have found a connection. Will you... Would you mind meeting up with me sometime?"

"You could just tell me over the phone," she pointed out.

"Well, there're pictures..."

"Email them."

Jaime was silent for a long moment, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't sound desperate. But quiet was unusual for him, and perhaps she took pity on him for it.

"Fine. No one else is helping me in the department, so I might as well."

He let out a breath. "Good. Thank you. Um... the coffee shop across from the station then?"

"Fine," she said. "Tomorrow at 10:00."

"Good. I'll see you there."

She hung up, and he exhaled, lowering the phone. That went much better than expected. The fact that she picked up the phone at all? That was good.

But now there was the actual meeting to worry about, and he didn't expect that to go well at all.

* * *

Beth had a uniform now, a simple tailored suit that made her look professional while still being easy to move in. They had to have it made for her, because suits just did not come in her size. But she liked the way it looked when she scanned her reflection in the mirror. Arya had never felt right in a dress. They made her uncomfortable, and she had to sit differently. This, however... she adjusted the collar and cuffs. Yes. This suited her just fine.

_It suits Beth fine, _Arya corrected herself. _This allows her to blend in and keep professional. And not take any more clothing from Myrcella's closet._

She had won some of Cersei's trust when she properly protected Myrcella the previous night, but she knew well enough that she wouldn't be welcomed in the house as an equal. Not to mention being in the house made her far more likely to run into Tywin Lannister and he still struck her as a potential problem. Not someone to speak to for too long, lest he get suspicious of her.

Instead, she waited patiently on a bench just outside the security building, for Myrcella and her driver to pick her up. But as she waited, another car came screaming up the driveway. This was a car that begged for attention. Bright red, loud engine. No one would drive such a machine unless they wanted people to look at them. And Arya knew, without even seeing the driver, _exactly _who it was.

He vaulted over the top of the door rather than just opening it, spinning his keys around his finger. His sunglasses hid his often cruel eyes, but still showed just how much of a tool he was. No one could deny that he was pretty to look at, but his personality made him sufficiently hideous. Joffrey Baratheon, heir to the Baratheon fortune and perhaps the Lannister fortune as well.

He was just... the worst.

But Beth did not know Joffrey, so she tried not glare at him. In fact, she rather hoped he wouldn't notice her at all but no such luck. Joffrey had just made an entrance, and he scanned the front drive for anyone who might have seen. And his gaze settled on her.

Beth entwined her fingers together in her lap, taking a deep breath as Joffrey sauntered up. "Clegane in there?"

"Yes, sir," she said. And gods did it kill Arya to add that 'sir'.

"Good. Good." Joffrey tilted his head to the side, observing her like a hungry cat might observe a mouse. She supposed this was the best test yet of her disguise. "You can't possibly work for our security team, can you?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "I was just hired."

"For what? Did they need something pretty to look at?"

Arya clenched her jaw. She much preferred it when Myrcella called her pretty. Joffrey made the word sound gross somehow. Maybe it was his voice. She really hated his voice.

"No. I'm a bodyguard for your sister," she said. That was a slipup. He hadn't introduced himself yet, and she acted like she knew him. But then again, anyone who glanced at a tabloid knew Joffrey Baratheon, so she decided she was safe. Besides... he was not very bright.

"Oh, I see," Joffrey said. "You look kind of familiar though. Have we met?"

_Shit, _Arya panicked, but Beth looked up at him calmly.

"Sorry. I don't think I've had the pleasure. Beth Rivers."

"Beth Rivers," he repeated the name, trying it on for size. "Doesn't sound familiar. But you look like someone I know... can't figure it out."

_I could punch you in the face to help you remember, _Arya thought, though she tried not to let the thought register on Beth's face. Still, she liked Joffrey better with a broken nose.

"Joffrey!"

Beth released a breath as Myrcella approached.

"Don't bother my bodyguard. She's not interested."

_Thank you Myrcella. I'm definitely not._

"Neither am I," Joffrey scoffed. "Just trying to figure out if I know her from somewhere." He looked back to Beth. "She looks kind of like someone I had a one-night stand with a few months back."

"Beth has way better taste than that," Myrcella retorted.

Joffrey flipped her off as he went for the door of the security building. "Whatever. You know you should get a bodyguard like Clegane. Who is she going to fight?"

"Whoever crosses her," Myrcella said.

"Yeah. Sure." Joffrey looked Beth up and down one more time before disappearing through the door.

"Sorry about my brother," Myrcella said. "He and Tommen look a lot alike... but it is very easy to tell them apart."

"Yes, I don't think I'll be in danger of mixing them up." Beth stood, rubbing her hands together. "Ready?"

"Yes, the driver is almost here," Myrcella looked her up and down. "They got you a uniform I see. It suits you."

"Thank you, miss," Beth said with a slight smile as the car pulled up in front of them. "Shall we go?"

#

"I hope you don't mind working nights," Myrcella said as the driver sped down the road. "Because there are a few major events coming up and I might be out late."

"They hired me to have a flexible schedule, Miss," Beth said. "It's fine. What are the events?"

"Well, there's this Charity Gala," Myrcella said. "All the major families in King's Landing go. It's not really an event that requires a bodyguard, but I think mother will want you there, regardless."

"Ah." Beth folded her hands together in her lap. She knew the Charity Gala. She had attended it before as Arya Stark and she had not enjoyed it. It was all one big show for the press and they focused more on what everyone was wearing than the money they gave. When she went four years ago, she had felt so awkward next to Sansa and Robb and so scrutinized by the press that she fled and hid in the hallway.

She remembered crouching between two statues, holding her head in her hands until her father came to find her. She worried he would be angry, but he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and spoke in a soothing voice.

_It's all right, Arya. We can go soon. The car is on its way._

Her father was always good at handling situations like that and being there when she needed him most. The memory made her chest clench.

"You don't have to be worried," Myrcella said. "You won't be the only one in the security team there, believe me. It will all be very fancy, but most of it is a facade. That's what mother says. It's just important that I attend since I'm a Baratheon _and _a Lannister."

"I'm not worried," Beth blurted. "I'll go. I don't expect anyone to give you trouble there."

She did, however, expect another sort of trouble. Her family would be there. Her mother and Robb. Perhaps Sansa, Rickon and Jon. Bran would avoid it, no doubt... but everyone else...

That would be a real test of her disguise and it made her heart race in her chest.

"And then there's my Uncle Tyrion's party," Myrcella said. "But Mother can't know about that one."

Beth blinked, shaking away Arya Stark's fears. "Your uncle's party?"

"Yes. He's hosting it the same night as the gala. Mother says he's doing it because he's spiteful but he really is very fun," Myrcella said. "I'd hate to miss it. That party will be a bit... crazy. They always are."

"That should not be a problem," Beth said. "Thank you for the notice, Miss."

Perhaps Cersei would not want Myrcella to go and it would be wise to report this to her. On the other hand, she wanted to meet Tyrion Lannister. She knew little about him and for now, everyone in the Lannister family was a suspect on Arya Stark's list.

_Watch and listen. Be patient._

_If you are truly a worthy student, you will find the truth yourself._

And she planned to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Oh, and in case you were wondering about Cersei's kids and whether or not they are Roberts, that'll be delved into later. They're just not Jaime's, for modern AU purposes.
> 
> The first of our other Starks should be appearing next chapter so hopefully you'll enjoy that. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	9. Spite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got Tyrion this chapter, since we gotta introduce him! And some sweet sweet Braime moments. Plus some Starks coming in toward the end. Enjoy!

Tyrion knew that the annual Charity Gala was fast approaching, and he knew instinctively that his father did not want him there. Thus, the real question became—by what method should he have his revenge?

There were two options in his mind. Showing up to the Gala and circling around his father the entire evening, talking to every shareholder in the Lannister Corporation. _Or _throwing his own lavish party later that night. Both options were tempting. One was less expensive, but the other involved actually associating with the shareholders who called him 'imp' behind his back.

A party of his own sounded _much _more exciting. He wouldn't even have to _see _his father that way. He could feel his anger from miles away, but never lay eyes on him. It was the ideal scenario.

This had been their game for many years. Tywin looked down on Tyrion and told him he was a lecherous drunk with no sense of responsibility. And instead of striving to prove him wrong, as he had when he was younger, Tyrion embraced the titles and became the most skilled lecherous drunk in King's Landing. In response, his father had cut him off from the family fortune two years ago. Now, Tyrion was the professional family disappointment.

His father was sure that Tyrion would eventually spend all his money. He didn't think highly of Tyrion's wits. But beneath the parties and drinking, Tyrion had a keen eye for the stock market and for good investments, just like his father. He would have amassed a great deal more wealth by now if it was not for his expensive habit of pissing off the Old Lion. But he didn't want to give _that _up.

Besides, he wanted his father to keep thinking he was a worthless imp. It would make it sweeter one day when Tyrion showed him just how much money he had gained, even despite his spending. He dreamed sometimes of seeing the look on his face. How shocked his father would be. How furious.

For now, it was a distant fantasy. And this bit of acting out would have to sate him for now.

"You should come," he told Jaime over the phone. "Really. Imagine how angry father will be if _two _of his sons skip out on the Charity Gala."

"Tempting," Jaime said. "But I'm living on father's dime at the moment, Tyrion. I can't afford to piss him off. Not like you."

"You could live on my dime for a bit," Tyrion said. "I don't mind."

"I wouldn't want to break your bank," Jaime said. "Your drinking habit alone must bring you close to poverty."

"Father wishes it was," Tyrion said. "Don't worry, Jaime; I'm handling myself just fine. And I think you need a bit of fun. You don't come out of that apartment enough."

"I'm out right now," Jaime said.

"Wonderful. And you can come out to my party on Saturday."

"No, I can't, Tyrion." Jaime sighed. "I've already promised Cersei I would go to the Charity Gala."

Tyrion groaned, kicking a wine bottle out of his way and watching it roll across his kitchen floor. "You're choosing her over me? Really?"

"I'm not choosing."

"Yes, you are. And worse, you're choosing _father _over me. You _know _he sent her to convince you," Tyrion said.

"Yes, I'm aware," Jaime said. "And I'm accepting the olive branch. If he cuts me off, I can't play the stock market like you can. I'll be destitute."

"Oh, he would never cut you off, Jaime," Tyrion said. "_You're _the golden son. He'll extend a whole tree of olive branches to you before he cuts you off."

"Have you been drinking this morning?" Jaime asked.

"Don't change the subject," Tyrion said. "You know why I do this, don't you? Because he will never extend _me _an olive branch. He wants me to come back to him on my knees, begging for forgiveness. Well, he won't get it. I refuse."

"Yes, you've said," Jaime said. "Believe me, your party sounds much more enjoyable and I support you in your game to piss off father. It's admirable, truly. But I've already said I'd go, and if I go back on my word now, I'll never hear the end of it."

Tyrion sighed, flopping back on his couch. "Fine then. I'll never forgive you for it."

"Never?"

"Oh, all right. I'll forgive you in two days, but only if you promise to come out drinking with me soon."

"I promise," Jaime said with a laugh. "I wanted to talk about your drinking habit-"

"Mm hmm, I'm sure you would. Goodbye!"

Tyrion hung up before his brother could pursue that line of questioning any further. His drinking wasn't so much of a problem. Even when buzzed, his wits remained sharp. It was just a little something to help him get through the day.

His phone rang again, and he checked the screen. A smile broke over his face. His lovely niece. She didn't call him often. He answered the call.

"Cella! How are you this morning?"

"I'm well, Uncle Tyrion," Myrcella said. "So... listen. I hear your throwing a party Saturday night after the gala."

"And during," Tyrion said. "I want to give people an exciting alternative."

"Grandfather wants us to go to the gala," Myrcella said. "But I doubt I'll stay the whole time. I was wondering... when I left... could I maybe come to your party?"

"I'm not sure," Tyrion said. "Aren't you a bit young?"

"No, I'm eighteen now!"

"Eighteen? Gods, the time really flies," Tyrion said with a grin. "All right then. You can come, but don't tell your mother. She'll be very cross with me."

"She's always cross with you," Myrcella said.

"She is," Tyrion said. "But I don't want to add any fuel to the fire. You understand, don't you, sweetling?"

"Of course," Myrcella said. "I'll see you Saturday then? Oh, I'm excited!"

She hung up the phone and Tyrion smiled, tossing it beside him on the couch. This would make Cersei _furious _and the prospect delighted him. It was just too fun to push his sister's buttons. Not as fun as pushing his father's buttons, but still very entertaining.

In any case, he liked his niece. She and Tommen were both a delight to be around and he did not understand where they had gotten that from. And they still thought the world of him despite the family situation. He had them and he had Jaime. He didn't have Joffrey, but he didn't _want _him. And Cersei and father? Well, he didn't really want them either.

"Tyrion?"

He looked up to Shae hovering in the bedroom doorway, wrapped up in a sheet. Her dark curls hung off to one side as she tilted her head and she had a very sweet smile.

"Are you coming back to bed with me?"

"In a minute," he said with a smile. She returned the gesture, spinning on toes and trotting back into the bedroom. He couldn't help but admire her as she walked away.

She was a call girl. Not someone who actually loved him. He had given up hope of that a long time ago. But so long as he had money, she would pretend to love him. Like with everything else in his life, his father wouldn't approve. Not one bit.

Tyrion sighed, finishing his drink and slamming his glass down on the table. Perhaps he needed to come up with some new reasons to do things. It annoyed him that he even cared what his father thought. He did though. Of course he did. It was hard not to crave a father's approval, even when that man had hated him since he was born.

So until he learned not to care, it would satisfy him to irritate his father and pretend that was enough.

* * *

Jaime was beginning to worry about Tyrion—mostly because of the drinking. Over the past few years, he had been watching his siblings' alcohol consumption rise and rise and rise. It made his own increased drinking look tame by comparison.

It was becoming a problem, he knew, but neither of them would listen to him talk about it. If he did, they would just bring up his state of living as a counter. That was how the Lannister family worked. They never took advice. They just gave it. And then they all remained stuck in their ways. Their father had taught them that lovely life skill.

He _wanted _to go to Tyrion's party. It seemed much better than the Charity Gala, and there would be fewer people asking him about his future. But then again, he worried about angering their father _and _Cersei more than Tyrion.

He envied his little brother's penchant for spite sometimes.

He also envied the fact that his brother was not about to walk into a very awkward conversation with Brienne Tarth.

She was already sitting in the coffee shop looking over some notes. He could see her in the window before he even crossed the street. She was hard to miss, admittedly. He had never met a taller woman, and she had broader shoulders than most of the other officers in their division. No one could call her pretty. In fact, many of the officers had thrown around a variety of cruel words around the station. Jaime's word for her had been 'wench', which wasn't the worst insult but wasn't a compliment either.

She would not want to see him. But even so, he wanted to feel as if all the hours spent looking over old cases in his room _meant _something.

He swallowed his nervousness and walked through the door, sitting down across from her. He placed the file between them.

"Brienne. Thanks for meeting me."

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "So you do know my name? I could have sworn you didn't."

"Ah... yes, I know your name," he said, running a hand through his hair. Hopefully she wouldn't see her name in his phone. He should change that, actually. "I won't take up too much of your time. The woman that was found this morning. It said that she had a tattoo on her wrist?"

"Yes. Of wings," Brienne said.

"That's what I read," Jaime said, pulling a photo from the file and handing it over. "I was wondering if it might look like this?"

Brienne's brow furrowed as she saw the picture. Her expression changed from irritation to surprise. "Yes. Yes, it looks exactly like this." She looked up at him. "This tattoo. Who had it?"

"Her name was Ros," Jaime said. "She was another call girl who was murdered two years ago. We never found the one responsible. But I was looking it over again and... well, I wondered about the tattoos."

Brienne went back to studying the picture, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she did.

"Do you think there's a connection?" he asked.

"It could be a mark from their pimp," Brienne said. "With call girls... a lot of them end up killed by their own employer. But... pimping is illegal in King's Landing now, so most of them keep as anonymous as possible." She shrugged. "But I can at least see what I can find about the guy."

"So it helps?" Jaime asked, trying not to sound too eager. But he was. Gods, he was. What a thing it would be... to be useful.

"Yes. It could help," Brienne said. "Thank you, Lannister. No one else has given me much help. No one else at the station cares about another dead prostitute." She glared at him. "Not that I think you care. You're just trying to get back on the force."

"Somehow, I don't think that will happen," Jaime said. "I'm useless to them now... without my hand."

Brienne's jaw clenched, and she looked away.

"By the way," he said. "I'm not sure I thanked you for that."

Brienne's eyes widened. She had astonishingly blue eyes. It was one part of her he _could _call pretty. "Thanked me for what?"

"Well, I was delirious after it happened, but I seem to remember you were the one who stopped the bleeding," Jaime said. "And called for backup."

"That was nothing," she murmured. Her pale cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "Besides you wouldn't have... you wouldn't have lost the hand if not for me."

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I was too hasty," she said. "I provoked the man before enough people arrived. If I hadn't then it... wouldn't have led to that."

Jaime hadn't really thought about it that way. But thinking about it, he couldn't really blame her for the incident. "Hoat was a loose cannon. I think he would have attacked with or without you being hasty. You don't need to blame yourself for that." He sighed. "Besides, I helped with provoking him. My tongue gets me into trouble sometimes."

"It is on the rude side," Brienne agreed.

"There, you see? You can blame me for the whole thing," Jaime said. "Besides... it could have been worse. We both made it out alive, didn't we?"

"Yes," she murmured. "We did."

He tilted his head to the side. For a moment her expression was not so harsh and her shoulders not so tense. Usually she was always on guard around him and certainly never guilty or apologetic.

It was gone in a flash though. She shook her head and stood, taking the file with her. "Thank you again. I'll put it to use."

"Will you let me know if it leads to something?" he called after her as she hurried toward the door.

She paused in the door as if debating the answer. If she was smart, she would say no. Selmy wouldn't approve of this and she was a bit of a stickler for authority. But after a moment of silence, she nodded once.

"I'll text you."

And then she left Jaime alone in the coffee shop. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. The tattoos had been a match and Brienne had taken the pictures. For the first time in a few months it actually felt as if he had done something _useful_. It was a relief.

He rubbed his fingers over his chin, feeling the bristle. The beard really had gotten out of hand. And even if he still felt sorry for himself, he shouldn't wear it on his face.

Besides, if he was going to that damn gala, he had to at least look the part.

* * *

Catelyn Stark hated this time of year. It was full of too many awful memories, and every time the summer drew to a close and the autumn swept in, she felt them press against her heart, mind and soul. Every terrible thing for her, it seemed, happened in the autumn. Ned's car accident. Arya's disappearance. The death of Sansa's beloved dog, Lady.

The discovery of Arya's body.

All in the fall. All right around the same time.

And then there was the Charity Gala.

Before three years ago, it had simply been an annual event which she and Ned attended each year, sometimes with their children and sometimes not. It was expected of all the major families of King's Landing. Naturally, it meant a massive clash of egos between people who did not like each other but knew to smile through it. Starks, Lannisters, Baratheons, Tyrells, Greyjoys, Martells. They all danced around each other in splendid outfits, all under the guise of being charitable.

Still, Catelyn hadn't minded the gala. It was entertaining to watch the world of the wealthy elite. Catelyn had always been well off as a Tully, but the press never followed her family around. Thank the gods for that. And anyway, she had Ned to hold on to. He didn't like the event very much either and she had enjoyed sitting off to the side with him, making comments under their breaths about the many guests.

And then one year... she didn't have Ned. He was dead and gone and her daughter was missing.

The next year... the Gala occurred only a week after her daughter's body was discovered and laid in the ground.

The next year, nothing at all happened. Yet. But Catelyn was paranoid that something worse would happen. These things did come in threes, didn't they? Why not a third year of misery? So even though nothing had happened, she hated the Gala all the same.

And now? A fourth year of an event that had become poison to her. A poison she was expected to choke down. She had not slept well in the past few weeks but she covered the dark circles with makeup. She pinned up her hair so it would not fall out of place. She dressed as if she did not want to lock herself in her house and mourn.

With the press already running stories about her dead daughter, she refused to give them any other weakness.

She walked down the stairs and found Robb pacing the hall, answering emails on his phone. He never stopped working it seemed, but he had to work twice as hard as most CEOs. Because he was so young, many people thought they could take advantage of him.

He heard her and looked up from his phone, giving her a sad smile. "You look nice, mother."

"Thank you," Catelyn said, joining him at the foot of the stairs. "And you look very handsome." She looked around. "Sansa?"

"Other plans," Robb said.

"I don't blame her. The press seems to hound her the most." Catelyn sighed. _Especially _after that stint she had with Joffrey which came to a tumultuous end a year ago. Catelyn knew she had just been acting out after her father's death, but she wished that she didn't hurt herself so much in the process. "What about Jon?"

"Work," Robb said. "I wish I could use work as an excuse."

"Unfortunately, tonight _is _the work," Catelyn said.

"The press has been insufferable the past few days about Arya," Robb said. "They'll be watching us tonight."

"They always do." She looped an arm through his. "Let's get this over with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we have the charity gala which I am QUITE excited about. It'll be split up over a few chapters, so, should be fun. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	10. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we begin the gala. Really enjoyed writing this particular chapter because I got to write some fun conversations and moment. There's also some flashing back to what happened in the three years Arya was gone. Hope you enjoy as well!

Hundreds of years ago, the Red Keep had been a castle from which kings had ruled. Now it had been converted for the modern age—a museum, a ballroom, and a location for many large events. Tonight, it hosted the Charity Gala.

The outsides of the building were ancient, but the insides were opulent. Great columns stretched from floor to ceiling on either side of the room, and one could not even count all the chandeliers hanging in the ballroom. Catelyn had tried once but lost count halfway through because someone distracted her with conversation.

It had taken far too long to reach said ballroom because of the walk from the parking lot up the stairs, which had been covered with red carpet. All along the way, the press had lined the carpet, snapping pictures and asking questions.

But Catelyn was used to dealing with them by now. She was used to swallowing down her grief and pressing forward even when she wanted to scream.

And so she did. She locked her rage inside and let herself drift until finally she reached that great ballroom. As soon as she did, she scooped up a flute of champagne, trying not to drink too deeply. Then she made a plan.

_I'll force myself to mingle with the people who expect it for the first half an hour. After that, I will sit near the edge and wait for dinner._

She glanced at Robb and he gave her a nod of 'good luck' before they parted.

She found her sister first, laughing and talking with a group of women who Catelyn could not remember the names of for the life of her. Lysa smiled brightly and glided over to her, clasping her hand in greeting.

"I'm glad you could come, Cat. It's been _ages_."

It was a fake smile, Catelyn knew. She and her sister had not been on friendly terms for years. Even when they both lost their husbands in the same year, they had not grown back together.

"It has," she said. "How's Robyn?"

"Bigger every day," Lysa said. "I don't know where the time goes. You should come to the eastside and visit soon. Bring Bran and Rickon. I'm sure the boys will get along."

Catelyn very much doubted that, but luckily it was an empty invitation. Lysa didn't truly mean for her to accept. She nodded once. "Yes, I'll have to check my calendar."

Her sister was so... strange these days. Lysa claimed to mourn Jon Arryn dearly, but she did not act like a grieving woman, even in the immediate aftermath of his death. Theirs had never been a loving relationship. Lysa liked nice things, and Jon Arryn was a wealthy older man who could give them to her. Now he was dead, and she still had those nice things. She had no real reason to grieve, and she certainly did not know how to handle Catelyn in the immediate aftermath of Ned's death. They did not draw closer together. If anything, the deaths of their husbands had driven more of a wedge between them.

But for the party, for the cameras, Lysa greeted her with a smile and spoke of how glad she was to see her. Catelyn excused herself from the conversation as soon as she could.

She soon after ran into Petyr. Seeing him was a surprise, but a welcome one. "Petyr. I didn't know you received an invitation."

"You wound me, Cat," Petyr said with a grin. "I'll have you know my business is doing quite well. I know startups in this town have their troubles, but I'm smart enough to handle myself."

"I never said you weren't," Catelyn said. "I am glad you're here. One more familiar face."

"Yes, in a sea of false ones." He grasped her hand in his, bending to kiss it. "You must save a dance for me."

"I'm not sure I'll be in the mood for dancing, Petyr," Catelyn said. "I'm not even in the mood for _being here_ tonight."

"No. Of course not," Petyr said, releasing her hand. "Forgive me. I forgot the time of year."

_No, you didn't, _she thought. _You forget nothing._

But she let his lie slide. Her old friend had never been the honest sort even when they were children. That's why Ned always hated him. "You should mingle as much as you can. I know this is an opportunity for you. Make the most of it."

He gave her a sly smile. "Oh, I always do, Cat."

She wandered the floor, greeting other familiar faces with what she hoped was a convincing smile. The Stark shareholders, fellow board members and business partners. Eventually, her job done, she made it to a table at the edge of the room and sank into a chair. She breathed a sigh of relief and let her composed mask drop. Gods above this was exhausting, but at least this time she didn't feel right on the edge of a breakdown.

A drink set beside her on the table. "Mrs. Stark."

She recognized the voice in an instant, coming from just over her left shoulder. She drew in a breath and plastered a charming smile back on her face. "Mr. Lannister. It's a pleasure to see you."

"No need for the pretense," he said, a hint of amusement passing through his eyes. "I'm only greeting you out of courtesy. Just like always."

_Yes. Just like always._

Catelyn had almost never interacted with Tywin Lannister before three years ago, except at events like these. And even then, Ned made a sport of avoiding his rival. Back then, she did not meet with Tywin in business because, well, she hadn't been involved in it. Now she was on the board of Stark Industries, and she and her son had taken up Ned's mantle.

Catelyn knew he hadn't reallynoticed her until the first gala after Ned had died. He had approached her son to offer his condolences, as was expected of him, and Robb accepted them graciously, though he knew it was just empty words. The CEO of the Lannister Corporation gave his condolences to Catelyn as well, more like an afterthought.

"_I expect I'll be seeing more of your son now," _he had said.

"_Yes," _she replied. _"And me." _He gave her a look, and she stared right back. _"I'll be helping him as much as I can. I'm on the board now."_

"_Really." _He had seemed surprised by that. As if he hadn't even considered the possibility.

"_Yes," _she said, lifting her chin. _"I have the same business degree that my husband had, Mr. Lannister. Please don't forget it."_

She wasn't sure what had possessed her to challenge him in such a way. Most people did not, for it was ill advised to taunt such a ruthless man. But her husband was dead, and her daughter had been missing for two days. Next to those monstrous things, Tywin Lannister did not scare her.

That next year, they held the Charity Gala only a week after Arya's funeral, and Catelyn still felt on the edge of breaking. Every time anyone talked to her, she felt like snapping. She did not want to be here. She did not want to be here, but she had come anyway because she did not want her son to face these people alone.

"_Should you really be here, Mrs. Stark?" _he had asked when they crossed paths that night.

The question was sincere. He knew as well as everyone else that her daughter was fresh dead and that she was still in mourning. But still it felt like a challenge.

"_Yes. According to the press I should be and so I will be," _she said flatly. _"Do not concern yourself with me, Mr. Lannister. I can handle myself."_

Her voice had sounded strong enough, even though it was a lie. He was right. She shouldn't be here.

"_No doubt," _he replied. _"But you seem like you need a drink."_

There was a question hidden in his obvious statement. And she had wanted to deny that too, but she did need a drink and if she got up to fetch one herself, she might find herself in conversation with some stranger.

So she nodded once. A silent answer to his silent question. A few moments later, he had set a drink in front of her and continued on his way. They did not cross paths for the rest of the night.

Last year's gala had somehow been the worst for Catelyn. Even though neither of her losses were recent, the anniversary of them both had put her on a knife's edge. After a month of barely sleeping and drinking coffee more than she ate full meals, she knew that she was on the verge of a breakdown. A large crowd of people was not at all what she needed.

She had no clue how she had survived the walk past the press that night, but as soon as she got inside, she had to duck into the nearest hall, away from the crowds. She spent several minutes there, a hand over her mouth, trying to fight down the growing wave of panic inside her. She kept expecting a call on her phone saying that one of her other children was dead. Because that was what this time of the year had become to her.

He said nothing at all to her that night. No greetings and no condolences. No asking if she should be there. But he had handed her a drink as he passed her in that hall, and gods had that drink been welcome in that moment. More so than she would ever admit.

Now, on the fourth gala since Catelyn's world had cracked, he set another glass beside her on the table. A gesture that it seemed had become a tradition for them at this gala. It was the most courtesy he ever offered her in the year. Usually they only met with a contract of some sort between them. But there was no business tonight.

"You seem well," he said.

_Unlike last year, _said the silent implication of those words.

"I am, thank you," she said crisply. "So do you."

"I'm well enough," Tywin said. "Though I expect this gala will drag on for far too long."

"You don't like charity galas. That doesn't surprise me."

"Don't pretend that you like them anymore than I do."

"I think we may dislike them for different reasons," she said, sipping at the drink he had offered her. Bourbon, and a very good one.

"Possibly," Tywin said. "Why do you force yourself to come every year then?"

Catelyn's grip tightened around her glass. "The press watches all of us this time of year. Sniffing for weakness. If they want it so badly, they'll have to try harder than that."

"Hmm," he replied, and she could not even begin to guess what that meant.

"Grandfather?"

Catelyn turned to see a girl with long golden hair hurrying over to Tywin. She had a sweet face, and Catelyn recognized her as Myrcella Baratheon. Robert and Cersei's second daughter.

"How long am I expected to stay here?" she asked. "I don't want to leave too early."

"What did your mother say?" Tywin asked.

"To ask you. Since you're the one who wanted us here." The words might have sounded accusatory coming from anyone else, but they sounded sweet as honey coming from Myrcella. It was a wonder to Catelyn that they were related.

"Not long," Tywin said. "The press will clear out soon. You can go then." He glanced around. "Do you have your bodyguard?"

"Yes, she's here," Myrcella said. "Don't worry; I'll take her with me when I go. Thank you." She turned to look at Catelyn. "Oh, sorry. I'm being rude. I'm Myrcella Baratheon."

"Pleased to meet you," Catelyn said. "Catelyn Stark."

"Oh, of course. I went to school with some of your children," she said. She had the grace to not say which one was in her year. She didn't need to. Catelyn knew that she was the same age as Arya. "Nice to meet you. Have a lovely evening."

She hurried off and Catelyn watched her go. She was different as could be from Arya, yet Catelyn saw her daughter in the girl. Arya would be a young woman now if she had lived. If only she had lived.

Myrcella went to join someone by the wall and Catelyn inhaled sharply. For a moment... for a moment her eyes had deceived her, and she thought she had seen her daughter. But when she looked closer, she saw that Myrcella was speaking with a red-headed girl. The same size as Arya... but not her. It couldn't be her, after all.

"What is it?" Tywin asked.

"Nothing," Catelyn murmured, standing from the table. "Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lannister. Enjoy your evening."

It _had _been nothing. It was her tired mind seeing ghosts in familiar faces.

Just that time of year.

* * *

_Nothing, _she had lied.

Catelyn Stark was many things: stubborn, sharp tongued, unyielding. But she was not at all a good liar. Not that Tywin would press her on such things. She was not one to admit a lie, nor was she one to admit weakness or ask for help.

She had only asked him for help once, and that was when she had no other choice.

He remembered when Catelyn Stark showed up on his doorstep nearly three years ago. It was one of the more surprising visits he had received. It was only a few days after the gala in which they had held a tense conversation. In that time, she had clarified that she did not like him and that she intended to be his enemy if he came at her son. There was ice in her eyes when she issued the challenge. Hard to believe she was only a Stark by marriage.

But when she arrived at the Lannister manor... the ice had given way to panic.

"_I'm sorry,"_ she said. That was how he knew something serious had happened. She would never apologize to him otherwise. _"I know it's late."_

That was when she told him what he had already heard rumors of in the news. Her daughter Arya was missing. She had been missing for about a week and it did not take Tywin long to do the math in his head. The last time she had seen her had been the Thursday before the gala. The same day she came to his office to repay her debt.

"_I've asked all the other major families. I didn't want to ask you but... You have many people working for you and a lot of influence in the West. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate. If you see her, then... let me know."_

"_I did see her," _he replied. _"She came to my office that afternoon."_

She had looked at him with a bewildered expression, and he realized that his statement required a great deal of explanation.

He explained the 'why' quickly to her. That he had crossed paths with her daughter at Baelor's cemetery in the pouring rain. That he had given her a few coppers for the bus and apparently, she saw fit to repay the debt. He knew she was skipping school that day, and she had a large bag, as if she intended to go somewhere.

"_And why didn't you stop her?"_

"_Because I don't know your daughter. For all I knew she was just skipping school. I didn't pry into her business."_

"_You didn't have to pry, but you could have at least called someone_."

Yes. He could have. But then, he hadn't wanted to explain the situation of why she was in his office. It was just some strange encounter and getting caught up in the Stark family mess was the _last _thing he wanted.

"_How... did she seem?" _Catelyn asked at last.

"_Calm. Determined. Better than she was in the graveyard. Whatever she had planned... well there was a plan."_

"_How does that make it better?"_

"_It means she likely has a plan to come home."_ Tywin said.

After all, the girl was fourteen or fifteen. Old enough to take care of herself for a few days. Sometimes teenagers ran away to clear their heads. Joffrey did his fair share of disappearing in the months since his father had died. Though he didn't know if that was grief or just an increased desire to rebel.

Catelyn was not convinced. Her family had already taken two hard blows, and she expected a third. What was it Kevan had said? These things come in threes?

A silly superstition, but he promised to tell his people in the west and around the city to keep an eye out for her.

"_Thank you. I'll... repay the debt somehow if you find her."_

She was like her daughter in that way. She did not want to be in any debt to him. _"I'm sure you will."_

He had been wrong, of course. Arya did not turn up the next day or the next week or the next month. She was missing in every sense of the word. And a year later, the police declared her dead when they found her body beneath a bridge.

It annoyed Tywin, because he should not have been involved in the whole affair at all. It should have been a story on the news, like Ned Stark's death. But then Arya Stark repaid a few coppers and cursed him knowing that he was the last one to see the girl before she died.

The fact that his people found nothing about the girl also annoyed him. He had experience tracking down people who didn't want to be found. A fifteen-year-old girl shouldn't have been difficult to find. But she hadn't left a paper trail, and someone must have destroyed her cellphone as his people couldn't track it. There were just no leads.

And then she was dead.

Even in the wake of her many tragedies, Catelyn Stark dragged herself to this charity gala every year. And every year, when he looked at her face, he could see that she would rather be _anywhere _else. Her smile was brittle, her gaze haunted, her tone clipped. He respected the effort. The sheer stubbornness that came from refusing to show any weakness.

She had been better at this gala than she had the last three years. Tired, but not on the verge of cracking. Until she had seen a ghost in Myrcella.

_No... Not Myrcella, _Tywin glanced back across the room where Myrcella's bodyguard Beth Rivers stood at the edge of the room. She was the same age as Myrcella. The same age Arya would be. Different eyes and different hair, but Tywin supposed they had similar faces. And they were both quite small.

Beth Rivers looked up at caught his gaze across the room and he saw another flash of nervousness go through her. She did that every time she saw him. Just the smallest flicker of worry before her expression set again. He still hadn't figured out why.

"Father."

Cersei's voice drew him out of his thoughts as she came up beside him, hooking an arm through his. "Look who's here."

He turned and saw that Jaime had entered the room. It had been a few months since he had last seen him, and he looked much better than he had—clean shaven and his hair freshly cut. And he was smiling. That was a change from the last time Tywin had seen him. His last image of his son was of him snarling at him, his eyes bloodshot, his hair and clothing unkempt. He was half a feral animal then.

Now, he looked like a Lannister, meeting the guests that approached him with a charming smile. Playing the role he was _meant _to play.

"So you convinced him," Tywin said at last.

"Yes," Cersei said. "To come to the gala at least. I didn't exactly convince him to return to the business."

"One step at a time," Tywin said.

"Tiny steps," Cersei said. "Are you going to speak to him?"

"Yes. Later," Tywin said. "Let him get his footing first." He scanned the room and found Joffrey in the other corner. He was making conversation with one of their shareholders as well, and for once he looked like he was playing nice. "Joffrey has been handling himself surprisingly well tonight."

"I told him he only had to stay for an hour," Cersei said. "That seemed to brighten his mood. He can be on his best behavior for that long, I think. Just long enough for the press to snap a few pictures and then ignore whatever he does with his time later tonight."

"So, you handled everything then," Tywin said. That was unexpected. Not that his daughter didn't listen to his requests. It was just that she always acted so irritated in the moment that he never truly knew if she would complete them or "forget".

"Don't sound so surprised, Father," Cersei said. "And no, not quite everything. Tyrion is throwing a lavish party tonight as a counter to the Charity Gala. I won't be able to keep _that _from getting into the papers."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to do anything about him," Tywin said. "You have my thanks for the rest."

A smile crossed her face. "Your thanks. What a rare thing." She slipped away from him. "Enjoy the night, Father. I have a few more people to pretend I'm happy to see."

"Best of luck," he said. He watched his daughter fade back into the crowd. Cersei oscillated between being useful to the family and rebellion, often on the same day. But she was still the only one of his children who made an effort in the family business. And she seemed surprised by his gratitude.

_I suppose it is a rare thing from me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tywin and Catelyn interactions are still some of my favorites to write. And naturally, I knew they would have interacted regarding Arya, since he was the last one to see her alive. Awkward situations for sure. Next chapter, we have more of the gala. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	11. Dysfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Kinda shorter chapter this time around, but Thursday's will hopefully be longer. This one is from Jaime's perspective and has lots of Lannister dysfunction lol. Enjoy!

Jaime liked nothing about this situation, but he did not let it show on his face. He was, as Cersei suggested, clean shaven for this event, and the press seemed to like it. Or maybe they were just excited to see him at the gala when he had been largely out of the spotlight for the past six months.

They asked as many prying questions as possible, namely about how he was coping with the loss of his hand. It was in their nature.

"_I still have one," _he told most of them with a winning smile. _"I'll get by."_

Because he couldn't tell the truth. That he still felt his phantom hand every day. That sometimes he replayed the events of that day play repeatedly in his head until he fell asleep on his couch. That everything felt meaningless to him now. No. He couldn't give them that. So he flashed that charming smile and pretended that he was witty and optimistic about the whole thing.

When he finally made it into the ballroom, several of the Lannister Corporation shareholders sniffed him out immediately. He played their games, answering their questions just like he might answer the questions of the press. Glancing past one of their shoulders, he saw Cersei watching him. She gave him a smug smile and a little wave, and he resisted the urge to mouth 'fuck you' for fear of it being noticed.

"So, Jaime," Farman said. "Coming back to work for the company soon? We could use you."

_Oh, I'm sure you would use me as much as possible, _Jaime thought. "Not yet. I still have some things to work out on my own. There's plenty of time. My father has everything handled for now."

As he suspected, he had to answer the same question approximately one thousand times. It was almost a relief when he nearly collided with Robb Stark and was then forced to make polite conversation with him. At least it wasn't one of his father's henchmen.

"Mr. Stark. It's been some time," Jaime said. "How's business?"

"Well enough," Robb said coolly. "How's your hand?"

Most of the others at the part had danced around that question. It was almost refreshing that Robb didn't.

"Still missing, I'm afraid," Jaime said. "I hear your cousin joined the KLPD recently. Shame that I missed working with him."

"Yes, that is a shame," Robb said. "Though maybe for the best. I'm not sure the two of you would get along."

"No," Jaime said. "I don't suppose we would."

None of Ned Stark's children liked Jaime. Because Ned Stark did not like Jaime. And it had nothing to do with him being a Lannister. No. He and Ned Stark had some serious disagreements about his actions during the war and, in typical Stark fashion, he had never forgiven Jaime for that.

_So, you're a cop now. Funny profession for a man who escaped justice._

Jaime exhaled. Ned Stark had been dead for three years. He shouldn't still be hearing his voice in his head.

"Enjoy the rest of the party, Stark," Jaime said at last, clapping Robb on the shoulder as he passed. "Hopefully we won't have to speak to each other again."

Jaime had to admit, the charity gala was not without its value. Watching the wealthy elite pretend to like each other? That was entertaining. And he especially enjoyed watching the Baratheon family drama play out over the course of the night.

_Three Baratheons at odds. Who will take the throne of Baratheon Inc?_

As it stood, Stannis Baratheon had control of the company. He was already on the board before Robert had died and was known for curving his brother's wilder impulses. With him in charge, Baratheon Inc. was doing better than ever. The big issue? No one really liked Stannis—allies and rivals alike. He was stiff as a board and terrible at conversation. He was a fish out of water at a gala like this, and no one could stand to speak with him beyond the usual courtesies. It was almost painful to watch him. Jaime's father didn't like people either, but at least _he _knew how to be charismatic when necessary.

And then there was Renly. He had taken his brother's place on the board after Stannis earned his promotion. As a people pleaser with a whole closet full of colorful suits, he could not be more different from his bore of a brother. He laughed loudly and charmed Baratheon shareholders with ease. Some said that he would be a better CEO than either of his brothers. He was more responsible than Robert but more charming than Stannis. An ideal combination.

And now he had the esteemed daughter of House Tyrell on his arm. Margaery, the darling of the press for her charities and her modeling work, was set to marry Renly Baratheon in a few months. It had come as a surprise to almost everyone because Renly Baratheon did not seem... partial to women.

They were a pretty couple. Jaime watched them both work the room with ease. Between the two of them, they could charm every soul in the room, and perhaps make them forget about the danger of a Baratheon-Tyrell merger.

And then there was Joffrey.

Joffrey Baratheon, Jaime's dear nephew, the eldest son of Robert Baratheon. In his will, Robert specified that Joffrey should eventually inherit the company, perhaps forgetting that Joffrey should not be in charge of that much money _ever_. It was a legacy thing, perhaps. He wanted Joffrey to inherit his company just like Tywin wanted Jaime to inherit his—even though they would both be terrible at it.

_I'd like to think I'd do a better job than Joffrey though, _Jaime thought absently as he watched Joffrey circle the room. He was charming enough tonight, almost matching Renly in his game of charisma. His mother must have promised him a reward if he behaved.

It really was an uncertain time in the Westeros economy. Three CEOs dead in the past year and uncertain inheritance situations on the horizon. The chips were falling, and no one could tell which family they would favor when they landed. Stark, Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell. They came to this charity gala to monitor each other. This was not for the charity or for the food. It was work, just like everything else.

Eventually, Jaime found a place on the edge of the room when he could not bear to speak to anyone else. And there his father found him.

"Good of you to come," he said. "I wondered if you would."

"Well, you sent Cersei to me and she asked very sweetly," Jaime said. "I thought I could manage one night."

"Yes, you're managing fine," Tywin said. "More than one of our partners has made a point to tell me you 'look well'."

"I'm so glad I'm fooling them," Jaime said, sipping on his drink.

Tywin glanced at him. "Cersei has expressed concern about your state of living."

"The place is a little messy. Nothing to worry about," he said.

"And scattered with copies unsolved case files."

"Well, you always told me to never leave a task unfinished."

His father was giving him a look. Jaime could feel it without even having to turn to see it. But he kept talking.

"It passes the time, that's all. So many unsolved murders. For every unsolved murder, there must be a culprit out there lurking. Like whoever killed Arya Stark. Hard not to wonder about that, don't you think?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "It is hard not to wonder."

"I guess I don't have much hope of solving that one," Jaime said. "Not even you could find anything on her, so what chance would I have?"

_I'll never measure up to you. Everyone knows it. Including you and me._

"You're not with the police anymore," Tywin said. "There's no point in you obsessing over those cases."

"What else will I do with my time?" Jaime asked.

"Something useful perhaps?" Tywin asked. "I have a few tasks that I'm sure you could manage."

Jaime's grip tightened on his glass. "I'm not as sure as you." He exhaled. "I'm sorry... Father. You know I've never been good at this sort of thing. As much as you always tried to teach me. None of it did any good."

"I taught you to read, didn't I?"

"Yes. You taught me to read. And I hated you for it." Jaime glanced at him. "Are you eager for me to hate you again?"

"After we haven't spoken for three months?" Tywin raised an eyebrow. "I thought you already did."

Jaime winced. Yes, he supposed he didn't blame him for that. But then, didn't all of Tywin Lannister's children hate him just a bit? The old lion didn't seem to lose much sleep over it.

"Come to more events like these," Tywin said. "Let people see you. You can hate me if you'd like, but I'm not about to let my son lock himself away all day in an apartment feeling sorry for himself."

"So you'd rather me be in public feeling sorry for myself?" Jaime asked.

"You lost a hand, Jaime," Tywin said. "The rest of you remains. Don't forget it."

Before he could reply, his father continued on his way. Jaime exhaled, setting down his empty glass and rubbing his remaining hand over his face. He hated that his father was right, in some ways. Staying in his apartment and running through old cases was not helping him in the least. He just didn't want to admit his father was right. His ego didn't need any inflating.

"How did that go?" Cersei asked, sliding up beside him on the wall.

"It could have gone worse," Jaime said. "He wants me to come to more social gatherings to help with the business."

"You can manage that, can't you?" Cersei asked. "It's like I told you Jaime. He wants to use your charm and your smile to his benefit. Let him. It's a small thing."

"If I give him an inch, he'll take a mile," Jaime said. "He'll have me at a desk job within a month."

"Yes. God forbid you have a desk job when you have a perfectly good couch job," Cersei said. "Oh, wait... that's not a job."

Jaime gave her a look.

"I'm just saying," Cersei said. "It would be nice to have someone else to deal with father sometimes. I've done my share."

Yes. She had. "I'll think about it," he said. Then he pushed off the wall to circle the room. He wanted to avoid any more conversations with shareholders _and _family.

He had made a half circle around the room without attracting anymore conversation, but when he reached the main doors, another familiar voice interrupted him. But this one he was at least glad to hear.

"Uncle Jaime!"

Jaime looked down to see Myrcella coming toward him.

"Cella. How are you this evening?" He flashed her a smile, looking over her lovely pink gown. "That's a beautiful dress."

"Do you like it? It's new." She grasped the skirt in her hand, swishing it around a bit. "I'm sorry I missed you, but I won't be here much longer."

"Other plans?" Jaime raised an eyebrow.

A flash of panic went through her eyes. Myrcella never could hide a single lie in that pretty little head of hers. She was an open book to anyone with eyes. "No. Just... a few friends."

"Uh huh." Jaime tilted his head to the side. "Is one of those friends your Uncle Tyrion?"

Myrcella bit her lip. "Please don't tell Mother."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jaime said. "Go have fun. Believe me, I wish I could join you but I'm trying to curry favor with the old lion."

"Is grandfather angry at you for something?" Myrcella asked.

"Oh, he usually is," Jaime said. "Nothing for you to worry about Myrcella. Its family politics."

"I'm family too, you know," Myrcella said. "And I'm an adult now."

_Oh, sweet girl. Only barely, _he thought. Myrcella would be better off if she could stay well away from the family business. She was too sweet-natured for the whole thing.

"Yes, I know," he said at last. "But, adult or not, I think you'll have more fun with your uncle." He was aware of someone else watching him and he looked just over Myrcella's shoulder to see a red-headed girl with dark brown eyes. She seemed Myrcella's age, but she didn't dress like one of the wealthy elite. She looked like a security guard. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh. This is Beth Rivers." Myrcella stepped to the side. "She's my personal bodyguard. Mother hired her."

Jaime's eyebrows shot up. "Bodyguard. Really."

"Yes," Myrcella said. "She's actually quite tough, so don't cross her."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He looked back to Beth. "Sorry to doubt you Miss Rivers."

"That's all right," she replied. "You're not the only one to respond that way."

"Jaime Lannister." He held out a hand. "Forgive the left-handed shake. It's the only one I have."

"It's all right," Beth said, clasping his hand. "I'm left-handed, so I don't mind."

She had a firm handshake and a steady gaze, and Jaime felt exposed beneath it. There wasn't... hatred there exactly, but there was a coolness that unsettled him. Most teenagers didn't stare like that unless their eyes had seen a great deal of terrible things.

"I'll keep Miss Myrcella safe," she said as she dropped his hand.

"I'm sure you will," he said. "You seem... very attentive."

"She is." Myrcella said, linking arms with her guard. "I'll see you soon I hope, Uncle."

"Yes. See you soon," Jaime said, watching the two girls hurry off down the hall. What a strange pair they made. Practically opposites, but Myrcella seemed to have taken to her new bodyguard. At least that would help her mother sleep at night.

Beth River's eyes stuck with him even as he returned to the party. In a world where most looked at him with either hatred or admiration, he was not used to such a neutral stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth is freaking Jaime out a bit, naturally. For those wondering how Arya is handling this whole party, we'll find out next time for sure. But it's definitely been hard for her. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	12. A Flash of Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get more of Arya's perspective, but also Myrcella toward the end of the chapter. Its a decently sized chapter with some exciting stuff toward the end. Enjoy!

Myrcella was eager to leave the Charity Gala, and Beth was glad to go with her. More for Arya's sake than her own. Being in that room had been absolutely suffocating. Even walking into that main ball room brought back an unwelcome rush of memories. The last time she was here, her father was alive, and so was she. She had hated being there that night, but what she wouldn't give to go back.

And the night only grew more difficult from there. The room was saturated with family friends and acquaintances she used to know. Her Aunt Lysa. Her father's business partners like Roose Bolton and Jon Umber. Petyr Baelish, who years ago had unknowingly sowed the first seed of doubt in Arya's mind about her father's fate.

And then there was her family.

Arya saw her mother first, and it was ten times as bad as any jab to the gut from the Waif's staff. She didn't know why it was such a shock to see her. She _knew _her mother would be attending this event. She did every year. But when she noticed her next to Tywin Lannister…she felt an immediate bout of nausea rise within her.

_Beth is nauseous because she's not used to the wealthy elite. That's the reason. Her mother isn't here._

She repeated the words over and over again in her mind, as if she could make them true. But Beth could not begin to shove down Arya's feelings in that moment. Especially when her mother looked in her direction.

She hadn't recognized her, thank the gods, because she was at a distance when she looked. Or perhaps because she thought it impossible that her daughter returned from the dead. Arya had painted a convincing picture of Beth and her mother had not seen through it.

Part of her... part of her wished that she had. That she had rushed to embrace her. She missed her so much.

But she wouldn't. Two years ago, the police found a body which they somehow identified as Arya Stark. Her mother had no reason to question it. Even if she did see shades of her daughter in this stranger, Beth, she would assume it was a coincidence, or her mind playing tricks on her.

When Arya joined the Faceless Men, she knew she might never return home. But she did not expect them to fake her death. It made sense, she supposed. They were faceless and nameless. They needed her to be able to move outside without being identified as Arya Stark. But Arya felt tremendous guilt when she realized her family must hold another funeral, only a year after the last one.

_There was no other choice, _Arya thought. _I had to protect them. I couldn't lose anyone else._

Arya had seen Robb as well. At one point, he stood nearly right in front of her, making conversation with Margaery Tyrell. Thankfully, he never noticed her. She was a shadow on the side of the room to him. One that could not possibly be his long dead sister.

He looked good after three years. Older, but in control of the room. Their dad always said he would be a natural at business and it seemed he was proving him right. He would be proud of him. Arya was proud of him too.

But she had to stand there, trapped behind Beth Rivers, and suffer in silence.

Thankfully, they were the only members of her family who showed up, so she was spared anymore heart wrenching meetings. And she was especially grateful for Myrcella, who was eager to get to Tyrion's party. A weight lifted from Beth's shoulders, allowing her to exist more comfortably. Finally, she could go somewhere no one knew either of her faces.

It was good that they had gone to the Gala though. It allowed Beth to meet Jaime Lannister for the first time. She had not completely figured him out. All she knew at the moment was that his smile was fake but convincing. She also knew that until recently, he had been a police officer. The police had been useless in the investigation of her father's death, but perhaps that was by design. Maybe there had been evidence and Jaime had gotten rid of it on behalf of his family. He had connections, and he had the ability to get away with murder if he needed to.

His smile was pleasant... but she would discover soon what he was hiding beneath it. She planned to do the same with his younger brother—her next target.

Tyrion Lannister's party was downtown in the penthouse of a skyscraper. When they pulled up on the street below, Beth could already see the flickering of colored lights from the top and Myrcella jumped up and down excitedly.

"All right Phillip, I'll call you when I need you again," she told the driver. Then she jumped over to Beth and pulled her along with her. "Come on. This will be fun. Uncle Tyrion always throws wonderful parties."

"You know I'm not here to have fun, Miss," Beth told her.

"Well, then you can watch me have fun," Myrcella replied.

The moment they entered the penthouse, Beth could tell that it would be a nightmare to keep track of Myrcella in this place. There were so many people and the flashing of the lights made it hard to see people. But then again, she hoped no one would give Myrcella trouble at her _uncle's _party. Tyrion was a small Lannister, but he was still a Lannister.

The host in question found them the moment they stepped through the door.

"Cella! You made it." Tyrion Lannister caught his niece's hand gave it a kiss. "The party is better with you. Just be safe, yes? Just because you're an adult doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

"I know, I know," Myrcella said. "Oh, Tyrion this is Beth Rivers. She's the bodyguard mother hired for me."

Tyrion gave Beth a once over. "Your mother hired a bodyguard, did she? Well, if that's the case, I'm guessing she's no fun at all."

"That's not what I'm paid for, sir," Beth said.

"That would be a yes," Tyrion said. "Well, have a drink anyway, Beth Rivers."

"I can't drink on the job."

"Well, that makes you different from my sister at the very least." Tyrion flashed her a grin. "There are non-alcoholic drinks. Feel free to partake in that. First one is on me."

Beth offered him a smile. "Thank you, sir."

"I insist that you call me Tyrion," he said. "You're on my family's payroll, but my father cut me off, so you're not on my payroll. It's _Tyrion_."

Beth nodded once. "Tyrion then."

"That's not fair," Myrcella exclaimed. "You won't call me Myrcella."

"Because I _do _work for _you_, Miss."

"That's true," Tyrion said. "Come, Cella. You don't want to get your dear friend Beth into trouble with your mother. Enjoy the party. We can focus on getting you two on a first name basis later."

Beth watched Tyrion lead Myrcella away, and she quickly wiped the smile from her face. She had come here to meet Tyrion to see if he might be a potential suspect. But he was so charming she found it very hard to imagine him murdering her father. His smile was just as false as his brother's, but they were different somehow. Tyrion's seemed warmer and more cheerful.

She would watch him throughout the night, she decided, but she did not expect to find anything of interest.

Beth found a good place against the wall near the bar which stretched all the way across the room. She could see Myrcella from here toward the middle of the bar laughing with a few of her friends. There was no one in the vicinity that seemed like a threat to her, so Beth relaxed a bit against the wall.

Then came a flash of red hair.

Beth's eyes widened as she focused on the woman who had just stepped up to the bar right in front of her. A tall, willowy girl with long red hair, impeccable make-up and Tully blue eyes. Sansa.

Seeing her so suddenly nearly knocked every ounce of Beth out of Arya. It had been hard enough seeing her mother and brother at the gala but at least she had expected that and had kept her distance. But Sansa... Sansa was _right _there. And she was looking at her. For just a split second, her sister looked up and noticed her through the press of bodies and Arya knew she would have to make a quick escape. But seconds later, Myrcella stepped between them.

"Sansa, it's good to see you. I feel like it's been ages," she said cheerfully. "I didn't see you at the gala."

"I couldn't bring myself to face them," Sansa said with a small smile. "You know how the press was... after Joffrey."

_What does she mean after Joffrey? _Arya thought. Her sister had a short stint of dating Joffrey when they were in school but... but she had broken that off a long time ago. Surely they hadn't gotten _back _together, had they?

"I understand," Myrcella said. "Forget about him. I'll get you a drink. My treat."

"Thanks," Sansa said. "Gin martini. Extra olives."

Arya swallowed thickly. Sansa always liked olives. Not that Beth Rivers would know that, but it was so hard to remember Beth when Sansa was right there in front of her.

Myrcella got her a drink and Sansa thanked her before moving on to mingle with some of her friends and Arya let out a breath, returning to watching the comings and goings of the guests. She tried to find Tyrion in the crowd again. She was meant to be watching him. But he was quickly fading on her suspect lists. Nothing about his demeanor suggested that he could kill someone. He _certainly _wouldn't kill anyone for the sake of the Lannister business. He clearly didn't care about that if he was throwing this part on the same night as the King's Landing Charity Gala.

And anyway, he was the most likable of the Lannisters she had met so far, excluding perhaps Tommen and Myrcella who were only half Lannisters. Perhaps Joffrey had taken all the unlikable traits before they were born.

There was a commotion near the door, and Beth glanced over to see what was happening. She let out a breath. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

Sure enough, Joffrey was making a grand entrance to the party, and the seas parted for him. He was an asshole, but he was still popular. Being the heir to two family fortunes—Baratheon and Lannister—did that. Lots of people considered money a replacement for a personality.

Instinctively, Arya looked for Sansa again and found her back at the bar. She tensed when she noticed Joffrey, hunching slightly over her glass. That was the look of a person who desperately wanted to go unnoticed.

But that had never been Sansa's specialty. Sansa had stood out in every crowd from the time they were children. She drew friends to her with ease and often she found herself at the center of attention. She could not just switch that off when convenient.

So, Joffrey noticed her.

Arya could not hear them from this far away, but she could read their body language. The way he sauntered up and leaned over the bar right next to her. The way his arm crept around her hunched shoulders. Sansa ducked under his arm, pushing away, her eyes wide. He reached out to grab her arm.

Arya stepped forward instinctively, every fiber of her being _demanding _that she cross the room and punch Joffrey square in the nose. It would get her fired, but for a moment, Arya did not care. Not even a little.

But before Joffrey could pull Sansa back to him, Tyrion interceded.

"Nephew, _where _are your manners? I don't think she wants to talk to you."

He spoke loudly. Loud enough to draw attention from others. Joffrey took a step back at that. "We were just talking, Uncle. I don't need your help."

"I'm not _helping_ you," Tyrion said. "And this is my party. I make the rules. And I have a new rule. You're not allowed to talk to redheads for the rest of the night."

Joffrey's lips curled into a sneer as he leaned down closer to Tyrion. "You can't-"

Tyrion smacked him across the face. For a minute there was silence in the room. "I told you nephew. I make the rules. I don't like them being broken."

Half of the guests kept quiet, not wanting to root against Joffrey. But the other half let out a cheer for the slap. Arya had wanted to join them. The smack had just made Tyrion rise in her esteem.

Joffrey looked for a moment like he might protest, but another man slid up behind Tyrion, this one much taller. He looked like the kind of person who fought for a living.

"Maybe you should leave, boy," he said. "This party may be a bit to adult for you."

"I _am _an adult," Joffrey protested.

"Wonders never cease," Tyrion said. "Get out, or I'll have my man throw you out."

There was no way for Joffrey to save face now. All he could do was look down disdainfully and claim the party was rotten all along. Then he spun and left with a few other friends. When he was gone, Tyrion stood up all the table. "Sorry for the disturbance. Next round on me!"

A cheer went up and at once the party resumed as normal. Arya looked for Sansa again in the crowd and found her standing up against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. Tyrion brought her a drink and said something. Arya could not have hoped to hear it, but at the very least, Sansa smiled.

"What a mess," Myrcella said, appearing by Beth's side. "Joffrey just can't help but make trouble everywhere he goes. I'm glad Uncle Tyrion knows how to handle these things. That's Sansa Stark. She's my brother's ex-girlfriend. They broke up a little over a year ago."

_A little over a year._

So they had dated again. Arya felt nauseous at the very thought of it.

"I'm glad it ended. Sansa deserves way better than him," Myrcella said. "You know, I think she knew that. She was just acting out a bit. Her family had a rough time. I'm sure you saw the papers. First her father died in a car crash and then her little sister disappeared." She sighed. "I always felt bad for the Starks. At least, when my father died, we weren't very close." She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh... I shouldn't have said that."

Arya swallowed hard. "So... her sister died then?"

"Yes," Myrcella said. "They found her body under a bridge. You know, I think it was pretty soon after that Joffrey and Sansa started dating again."

Guilt shot through Arya's chest like a lightning bolt. She knew what Joffrey was like. He could put on a show when he needed to and seem like a charming, normal guy. But beneath all of that, he was horrid. She hated to think of Sansa spending even one moment alone with him.

"But that's all over now," Myrcella said. "Uncle Tyrion won't let Joffrey back in so she's safe."

Arya let out a breath, letting Beth back in to take over. Sansa was safe now. She didn't have to worry.

Besides, she didn't have a right to protect her. She was the one who had disappeared for three years and left the rest of her family behind to deal with the grief.

Whatever happened in the past three years... Arya could not help but feel responsible.

* * *

Myrcella was quite enjoying the party. She enjoyed being in crowds like this. It made one feel not so alone.

She hated being alone at night. Not that she was afraid of the dark. Just the emptiness. The silence. Sometimes, the Lannister manor seemed so large and it swallowed her whole. She couldn't stand how much empty space there was. But here, in a room packed with people, there was no space and there was no silence.

There was no space between her and Trystanne Martell either.

It thrilled her to see him at this party. Normally a Martell wouldn't come to a _Lannister _party. But her Uncle Tyrion had made friends amongst the Martells ever since her grandfather cut him off.

She found him at the bar, and he bought her a drink. Somewhere along the line, they had started kissing. She liked how he kissed—soft and sweet and just a little awkward. She was probably awkward too. She had so much to drink already and her mind was all a fog.

"My mother would _kill _me if she knew I was here," she told him when they parted for a moment

"What?" he asked, because it was too loud to hear.

She started to repeat herself but then they were kissing again, and she decided it didn't matter.

Her mother _would _kill her if she knew she was here, kissing a Martell. But there was something exciting about that. Her mother was always so busy with work. She didn't have much time for her. If she knew about this... oh, she would make time.

She would spend that time yelling and lecturing Myrcella on responsibility and 'thinking about the family'. But it was _something _at least.

Myrcella blinked hard to clear her vision. She had been so distracted by her thoughts; she hadn't realized she was no longer kissing Trystanne. He had gotten distracted by some other friends and was all the way across the room now. Did that make her sad? Angry? No... neither of those. She didn't really feel anything beneath the weight of the drink.

"Miss?"

Myrcella blinked a few times, focusing on her bodyguard who stood right beside her.

"It's okay, Beth," she said with a sleepy smile. "I'm not in danger."

"You may be in danger of passing out if you have any more drinks," Beth said. "It's late. I texted your driver. I think we should get you home."

Myrcella nodded once. Yes. They probably should. She was feeling quite drunk. She let Beth guide her from the room. She said a quick goodbye to her uncle before she left, almost stumbling as she bent down to kiss his forehead. And then they were off.

Once out in the hallways, Myrcella felt a sense of relief flood over her. Quiet. Quiet at last. It was so loud in there that she had lost track of her own thoughts.

"Mm... that was fun," she murmured, letting her eyes drift slightly closed. She didn't need them open. Beth would guide her.

"I've seen you with that boy before," Beth said. "Who is he?"

Myrcella gave Beth a little smile. "Miss Rivers are you _prying _into my _personal _business_?"_

Beth looked away. "Forgive me, Miss."

"Stop Beth, I'm teasing," Myrcella giggled, pulling her on down the hallway toward the elevator. "His name is Trystanne Martell. Do you know what that means?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss," Beth said.

"It means I _shouldn't _be kissing him. But I am," Myrcella said. "My family and his family don't like each other. The Lannister side I mean. I think grandfather almost broke their business once. He's very ruthless with competitors, you know. No survivors." She spun around in a circle. "But Trystanne and I aren't involved in all of that, so we don't mind. And it's fun, don't you think? Just a little rebellion. It's like a song. Two young lovers who shouldn't be together because of a family feud. Have you heard a song like that?"

"Something like that, yes," Beth said, guiding her into the elevator.

Myrcella had as well. She had heard all the most popular songs. So many of them talked about forbidden love affairs and made them sound very exciting. Myrcella had not done a great deal of exciting things in her life. She was always concerned with following the rules. But this... this felt like a good start.

"I'm not even sure I like him," Myrcella continued when the elevator opened, and she stumbled out into the front hall. "It's just that... well I know he's trouble because he's a Martell and I'm half a Lannister. And it's not good for me to cause trouble, but sometimes I _want to _you know." She spun to look at Beth, wobbling a bit in her heels. "Joffrey always causes trouble, and that's bad. But he got all the attention because of it. Even when my parents were still together. They always talked about him, paid attention to him. And they paid attention to Tommen because he was the baby. The youngest. Sometimes they forgot all about me."

For some stupid reason, she felt tears burning at her eyes and her throat felt thick. Why? She had just been at a party. She was having fun. Why was she crying now? But she couldn't stop talking the words just kept pouring out of her stupid little mouth.

"I don't think my father ever remembered me. He forgot my birthday some years and... and went weeks without calling. And mother. Well, she's so busy with work and Joffrey and I try not to be a bother, but I wish she would notice me more, you know? So maybe she'll notice me if I go to parties like this and... and kiss boys I'm not supposed to kiss. Do you think?" She looked at Beth as her vision blurred. "Do you think that will work, Beth?"

Beth looked at her with a pitying expression in her brown eyes. "Your mother notices you. She wouldn't have hired me otherwise. She cares about you, really. It would devastate her if something happened to you."

Myrcella hiccupped. "I don't want to have to wait for something to _happen _though."

"I know." Beth rested a hand on her arm. "You should talk to her then. I'm sure she would understand, Myrcella."

Myrcella nodded once, hurrying to wipe away her tears. Then she let out a little laugh as she realized something. "Beth?"

"Yes."

"You called my Myrcella." She smiled brightly. "You should do that again."

Beth shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Well... don't tell your mother if I do, Miss."

Myrcella sighed. Stiff and professional as always. But she supposed that was her job. She fumbled for her phone and checked for a text from the driver. Sure enough, there it was.

"Oh! Phillip is here. Right outside." She looped an arm through Beth's, guiding her through the door. She was already beginning to forget her tears. Emotions passed quickly when one was drunk, and she was back to being happy. "Sorry for keeping you out so late, Beth."

"That's all right," Beth said. "I am being paid."

Phillip stepped out of the car to greet them. "Hello, Miss. Did you have a good night?"

"Yes, Phillip. A _very _good night," Myrcella said, letting a little bounce come into her step as she crossed the sidewalk. But then Beth's grip tightened her arm, and she stopped her.

"Hold on."

Myrcella's brow furrowed. "What is it Beth?"

That's when the gunshot echoed through the street and the front of Phillip's head burst open.

And Myrcella screamed.

* * *

When Arya was in the House of Black and White, they once tasked her to spend the whole day practicing with her gun without rest. Not _shooting _the gun. Getting into position. Pulling the trigger was the very last step. Before that came the position of the torso, the angle of the feet, the extension of the arm, the grip, and the position of the finger. And then... the seeing.

"_Do not aim," _the Hawk had told her. That was what people called him around the House of Black and White. She did not know his real name. _"If you practice enough, you won't have to. If you practice enough, when you raise your gun... you will know where the bullet is going without having to look."_

It was muscle memory for Arya the moment she heard the gunshot. In one beat of her heart, she shoved Myrcella behind the car. In the next, she drew her gun and crouched beside her. Myrcella was trembling, her eyes wide.

"Oh, my gods," she mumbled. "Someone is shooting at us. They... oh gods, they shot Phillip."

Yes. Phillip was already dead. A shot to the head would do that. It also meant that the marksman was skilled, but close. She pulled off her coat and tossed it out from behind the car. Two more gunshots at the movement, but now she knew exactly where they were coming from.

She stood. She raised her gun. She fired. And she hit her target twice in the chest. He sank to his knees, blood already bubbling from his mouth. Then he crumpled over onto the cobblestones. Only then did Arya register a shooting pain in her arm. He had gotten another shot off and carved a deep hole in the side of her shoulder which now gushed blood.

"Beth," Myrcella said in a panic. "You're... you're bleeding."

"It's a graze," Arya murmured. She couldn't think like Beth right now. Not in the heat of the moment. "Get in the car, Myrcella. There could be more of them."

Myrcella didn't move. She was frozen stiff, yet quivering just enough for Arya to see.

"_Quickly,_" she snapped.

Myrcella obeyed, scrambling into the passenger's seat. Arya circled around the car and clambered behind the wheel. Her left sleeve was practically dyed red, but the adrenaline kept the pain from setting in. She had trained to deal with pain during her endurance training.

But Myrcella was not convinced. "B-Beth you need to go the hospital. You're bleeding a lot."

"No," Arya said. The pain hadn't panicked her, but the hospital? If she went to the hospital, then they would see through her cover. They would see Arya Stark. She could already feel Beth slipping away in the midst of the adrenaline. "No hospitals. I'm fine. I promise. I'll get you home." She swallowed hard. "Call... call your mother for me. Tell her what happened."

Myrcella obeyed though the phone trembled so wildly in her hands that she could barely type in the number. "Shit," she cursed under her breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Myrcella," Arya said. "Listen to me. Look at me." She glanced to the side as she drove. "We're safe, all right. You're safe. I've got you. Now breathe... and call your mother."

Myrcella took a deep breath. Then nodded and dialed, calmer this time. And Arya focused on the road again. She had to get Myrcella home. Then she could worry about the bullet wound.

And about becoming Beth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some action there at the end! And the excitement continues next chapter, especially since Arya is bleeding a lot. Hope you all enjoyed. Until next chapter, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	13. Blood Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Sorry for the cliffhanger last time, but this should alleviate that some what. Though who am I kidding, you all who have read my stuff before know what you signed up for. Enjoy!

It relieved Cersei to return home from the Charity Ball with no scandal. Joffrey had behaved well enough for the time he was there, and Jaime had handled himself admirably despite all the pestering questions. It seemed even her father was satisfied with how things had gone. At least, he _seemed _satisfied in his own way.

The only real scandal came from the one who wasn't at the gala. Tyrion was likely still throwing his lavish party, wasting his money again. And to make matters worse, her _daughter _had gone to the party. Cersei wouldn't have given her permission if she had asked, and Myrcella had probably known that. But if she thought she could keep that a secret, she had been mistaken.

_At least her bodyguard is with her, _she thought. Still, someone had to do _something _about Tyrion.

"Are you really going to let him keep doing this?" she asked her father as they passed through the front hall and into the parlor.

"Tyrion wants to provoke a reaction from me," Tywin said. "I refuse to give him one. I've cut him off from the family funds. He'll burn through his money, eventually. Then he'll either crawl back begging for forgiveness or learn to live a simple life. And we know which option he'll choose. He doesn't know _how _to live without wealth."

"He invests, you know," Cersei said. "He _is _making money."

"Not enough to last forever," Tywin said. "Probably not even enough to last a few years."

"And until then he continues to cause a scandal," Cersei said. "I thought we were worried about that."

Tywin turned to face her, resting a hand on the grand piano at the far side of the room "No scandal Tyrion causes is anything new. And scandals blow over eventually. You should know that well enough."

Cersei didn't know if he meant the words to sting but they did, as harshly as a slap to the face. Her jaw went taut. "Seven hells... are you ever going to let that go? Almost two decades later, and you still bring it up."

"I'm not bring anything up," he said.

"Aren't you?" Cersei asked. "Jaime and Tyrion do nothing for this company while I work for its future every day. You'd think that would be worth something to you. Maybe a few less passive aggressive reminders about my little mistake."

"This has nothing to do that," Tywin said, feigning ignorance. "You're the one dwelling."

"Right. Of course I am." She strode over to the decanter on the table next to one of the long couches. There was something in it, thank the gods. She didn't care what it was as she poured it into her glass.

"You've had enough to drink tonight," Tywin said firmly, and that tone only made her want the drink more.

"Don't worry, Father." Cersei spun to face him, raising her glass. "If I cause any problems, _it will blow over_."

She stalked from the room before he had time to retort.

Tywin Lannister had a memory that stretched back until the beginning of time. Her Uncle Kevan used to say that her father's favor, once lost, could never be reclaimed. No matter how much penance they did, he would never truly forget.

And she knew that to be true. He had never really forgiven her one mistake.

She was eighteen when she found herself pregnant with Joffrey, the result of a secret relationship with Robert Baratheon who was over a decade her senior. Or at least, she was pretty sure it was Robert's child, but she couldn't be sure. There had been others at the time, who Cersei had long forgotten. But she said it was Robert's because how could she possibly admit she didn't know? That would have only made the whole thing worse.

When the scandal came to light, her father had practically paid Robert to marry her in order to lessen the stain on the Lannister family name. Cersei did not want to marry him. She knew from the short time she had been with Robert that he would not be a good husband or father. But the possibility of Lannister investment in his company seduced Robert and he had agreed. Cersei had agreed as well, believing she had no other choice.

It was the pressure from her father that made her give in. Because she had made a mistake and she was trying to earn back his favor. So she went through that sham of a marriage for the next ten years and endured Robert's affairs and growing alcoholism and verbal abuse. And once she put herself through law school, she divorced him. She wrote the terms herself. The papers said 'she took everything' in the split and painted her as a villain for it. After all, Robert had a sterling image in the eyes of the press. He was so charming to them. Cersei simply _had _to be the bad guy.

Cersei didn't care. Her children were free, and she was free and she was more than happy to play their villain. She ended up working for the Lannister Corporation while her brothers ducked responsibility and she did everything—_every single thing—_to please the great Tywin Lannister.

He rarely told her he was pleased. But he did not miss an opportunity to remind her of her shame. And really, she shouldn't have been surprised.

She hated him for it some days. Forcing the marriage for the sake of the family image when she was too young to fight back. It was a terrible thing to hate someone and want their approval at the same time.

She was halfway across the front hall when her phone rang. She sighed, fishing it from her purse to check. It was Myrcella. She put on a neutral expression and answered.

"Myrcella? Are you coming home soon-"

"Mother? Mother are you there?"

Her daughter's voice was frantic and Cersei's eyes widened.

"Myrcella, what's wrong?"

"Someone... shot Phillip," she gasped out.

Cersei's glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the marble floor, sending glass bits scattering everywhere. "What?"

"They were trying to shoot me. But then Beth shot them and now she's hurt and she won't go to a hospital." Myrcella was crying. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"It's all right, calm down," Cersei said, even though it was _not _all right. Someone had tried to hurt her daughter. "Who tried to shoot you? Did you recognize them?"

Her father had come out of the parlor now, having heard the glass shatter. There were questions in his eyes but she waved him away, trying to focus on her daughter's voice.

"I don't know who it was," Myrcella said. "I-I think he's dead now. I think Beth got him but..." The phone shifted and the voice changed.

"Ms. Lannister." Beth's voice came through the phone. "We're nearly at the house. Five minutes. Myrcella isn't hurt. I wasn't able to take the assailant alive and I don't know if there are more of them to question, but I can give you the address if you want to send a security team."

For a girl so young, her voice was shockingly calm. "Send Clegane the address when you hang up. Then get back here as fast as you can," Cersei said.

"Yes, ma'am," Beth said. Then the phone clicked off.

"What happened?" Tywin asked.

"Someone tried to kill Myrcella. That's what happened," Cersei found it hard to breathe in that moment and she had to brace herself on the banister. "Fuck."

"She's all right?" Tywin asked.

"According to her bodyguard, yes." Cersei took a deep breath. Calm. She had to be calm. Myrcella was fine. She was almost home. "I'll... I'll handle Myrcella. Can you…?"

"I'll talk to security," Tywin finished. There were some moments she could count on her father. Crisis situations were among those moments. "Make sure Myrcella is safe and get whatever you can from the bodyguard."

Cersei nodded, hurrying toward the front door. Anger and fear burned through her in equal parts. The assassin was _lucky_ he was dead.

Because otherwise, she would have made him regret being born.

* * *

The blood loss was getting to Arya. She felt dizzy as she finally pulled the car up in front of the house and turned off the engine. She was aware of Myrcella hopping out and rushing into her mother's arms. She knew she should get out of the car as well, but she was... exhausted and her limbs felt heavy.

A moment later, the driver's side door opened and Arya let her head lull to the side so she could look up at Cersei Lannister.

"Seven hells. Where did they shoot you?"

"The arm. It's just... a deep graze," Arya murmured.

"I'll call an ambulance," Cersei said.

"No," Arya muttered. "No, please. No ambulance. Just... I can take care of it myself if you have the tools. Needle and thread I mean. I don't need... an ambulance."

Cersei studied her for a long while and Arya realized how suspicious that sounded. At least Beth also had reason to avoid hospitals. Beth did not want to run into her abusive family again, and a hospital was too much of a risk.

_Beth. I'm Beth. I have to be Beth._

"All right. No ambulance," Cersei said. "But you won't take care of it yourself. We have a private doctor. I'll wake him."

Arya nodded once and eased herself out of the car. Her legs wobbled as she stood. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a much weaker girl. Black spots danced across her vision and she sank to her knees.

"Beth?" Myrcella said frantically. "_Beth_."

"I'm fine," she murmured. "I'm just..."

She didn't manage anymore words before she lost consciousness.

* * *

Arya jolted awake when something pricked her skin, reaching immediately for where she usually kept her gun. She did not find it. Someone had taken it from her and she would have to fight.

"It's all right, Miss Rivers," a voice said. She blinked hard and her vision focused on a man she did not recognize. "It's all right. You're safe. You're in good hands." He held up a needle. "I've nearly finished stitching you up."

"... Oh," Arya managed. Right. Rivers. She was Beth Rivers. "Thank you. I'm sorry." She studied him. "Who are you?"

"My name is Qyburn. I'm the private doctor for the Lannister family," the man said. "And the reason you aren't at a hospital."

"Thank you," Arya said hoarsely.

"Is there a reason you wanted to avoid a hospital Miss Rivers?"

Cersei's voice at the end of the table startled her. She hadn't seen her lurking in the shadows.

"I..." she swallowed hard. Beth. Remember Beth. "Yes. I don't want to make it any easier for my parents to find me... ma'am."

"And why is that?" Cersei asked.

"My father and I... did not get along," Beth said. "There were physical altercations. I ran away from home at sixteen. I try to avoid him."

"Is that why you wear color contacts?" Cersei asked.

A shiver went through Arya. Shit. Qyburn must have seen as he was treating her. She wondered if he had noticed her wig too. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry if that was... dishonest of me. I'm just trying to stay safe." She glanced around. "Myrcella. Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's all right. Shaken, but unhurt," Cersei said. "I have you to thank for that. I asked if you were willing to kill a man if the situation called for it. You said you were willing, and you didn't lie."

"No, ma'am," Beth said. "I am sorry I couldn't bring him in alive for questioning."

"I'll excuse it this time," Cersei said. "Myrcella wasn't able to tell me much about what happened. She was too frantic. I hoped you might know more."

"Not much more," Beth said. "We were on the way back to the car from a party. The assailant fired two shots. One hit Phillip in the head and one hit me in the arm. I got Myrcella behind the car, we exchanged fire, and I shot him twice in the chest. I didn't stop to check the body because I was worried there might be more, so I got in the car with Myrcella and drove here as fast as I could. That's the most I know."

"It wasn't someone from the party then?" Cersei asked. "No one you recognized?"

"No. And I think they came from the street not the party," Beth said. "I'm not sure of motives. I'm sorry."

"It could be a random attack I suppose," Qyburn said, finishing the stitches on Beth's arm. "She wouldn't be the first victim of a murder in King's Landing."

"Yes, but if it wasn't random, that's the issue," Cersei said. "If someone intentionally targeted Myrcella, they could target the rest of our family as well."

"The killer might have something on him that gives him away," Beth said. "Did security pick up his body?"

"Yes."

Arya jumped as Tywin Lannister appeared in the doorway. He was scrutinizing her and felt a flash of fear go through her. Was her disguise still askew? Would he see past it now that she was off her guard?

"The team found the body and brought it back," Tywin continued, stepping fully into the room. "They're searching it now for any hints as to the killer's motives. We'll know soon I'm sure." He looked from Arya to Qyburn. "Any serious injuries?"

"No. Just a good deal of blood loss. But I've stitched her up." Qyburn looked at Arya. "Plenty of fluids for the next few days, Miss Rivers. You'll need it to recover your strength."

She nodded once, not taking her eyes off of Tywin. He was still studying her and it made her feel like he was peeling away her mask with his gaze.

_He can't know, _she told herself. _He's just suspicious because of what happened tonight. It's impossible that he knows._

"You have my thanks for protecting my granddaughter, Miss Rivers," Tywin said. "You'll stay here tonight. I wouldn't ask you to drive yourself home in this state."

"I wouldn't want to impose, sir," Arya murmured.

"Seven hells, girl," Cersei said, standing from her seat. "Take the offer. You've been shot saving Myrcella's life. It's not an imposition."

"No," Tywin agreed. "Consider it a paid debt."

Hairs rose on the back of Arya's neck at those words. This hadn't been the first time a debt had been paid between them. She had paid the last one. He was paying this one. But the way he spoke just then it was almost as if he remembered the last time she was in his office, returning a few coppers and an umbrella.

_It's impossible, _she thought. _Mother did not recognize me tonight. Tywin Lannister certainly won't._

"All right," Arya said at last, letting herself fade back into Beth. "Thank you. Truly." She slid off the table. "I am exhausted."

"I'll have a maid show you to a room," Cersei said opening the door for her. Beth gave her a nod and shuffled out of the room.

She tried to ignore the fact that Tywin was still watching.

* * *

Cersei instructed a maid to show Beth Rivers to one of the guest rooms and returned at once to find her father and Doctor Qyburn talking.

"-quite a few scars on her body," Qyburn was saying. "So I see no reason to question her abusive father story. It fits with her reluctance to go to the hospital and with her disguise. However, some wounds are more recent. Too recent to come from her father, especially if she hasn't seen him in years."

"Hmm." Tywin looked to Cersei. "Was she able to give you anything useful about the gunman and their motives?"

"No. But she has also lost a lot of blood," Cersei said. "I'll question her again tomorrow once she's had rest."

"No need," Tywin said. "I'll question her myself. I have quite a lot to ask her and not just about the incident tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cersei asked.

"Just a suspicion," he said. "I think she has a few more secrets to tell."

* * *

Arya checked her phone before trying to sleep, looking as usual, for orders. Instead, there was only a single short text from Jaqen. Only two words.

_Well done._

A shiver went through Arya. He already knew what had happened. Which meant they were watching. From where? From the party? The street? She didn't know. But it was a subtle warning that she was never alone.

The Faceless Men had eyes everywhere, and if she failed, they would know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suspicious Tywin is suspicious. And there will be a long convo between them next chapter, so it should be fun. Hope you liked the action as well as the update to Cersei's story in the modern day. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	14. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly Tywin and Arya so...naturally, it was one of my faves to write. Enjoy!

When Arya woke the next morning, it took her a moment to figure out where she was. The bed was softer than any she had slept in since before she left home. Maybe softer than that as well. It was tempting to sink right into the mattress and sleep again.

But she knew better than that. She was in the Lannister manor and she could not let her guard down.

She forced her aching body from the bed and went to the bathroom to drink a few cups of water. The doctor said she needed fluids, and she wanted to have a clear head. Then she checked her face in the mirror. Her face detailing was still there, though faded. It would be enough to get her out of the house at least. And she still had her colored contacts. She carefully adjusted her wig again to make sure no dark hair was in sight. Then she straightened and let out a breath.

_Beth Rivers. I am Beth Rivers._

Beth didn't have all of her things in this room. They had taken her uniform and her gun. She would need to get them back before she left. It was best that she leave as quickly as possible. Find Cersei perhaps and tell her she was feeling better and she would be headed back to her apartment, if it was no trouble.

But before she could leave the room, the door opened. Beth spun around, but it was just a maid coming in with fresh clothes.

"Oh good. You're awake," the maid said. "When you've dressed, I'll be waiting outside for you."

"Ah... for what?" Beth asked.

"Mr. Lannister has asked to speak with you," the maid said and Arya felt her stomach twist. Fuck. If ever there was a test of her skills... this would be it.

* * *

Tywin Lannister's office was larger than Cersei's and the great, solid oak desk in the middle was the size of a small boat. Bookshelves lined either wall on either side of lush red and gold carpeting. It looked like a room fit for the Lannister patriarch.

He was sitting at his desk when Beth entered, flipping through something. He glanced up when the door closed and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

She obeyed without a word. This was Beth's main employer, after all. She would be respectful and only speak when spoken to.

She expected him to launch right into questions, but he continued with what he was doing, reading what looked like a contract. The silence made Arya feel deeply uneasy, and she fought not to shift back and forth in her seat. Still. She had to be still. Sometimes people used silence as a tactic to make others uncomfortable. She would not give him that.

After five solid minutes of silence, he set aside the contract. "How are your injuries this morning, Miss Rivers?"

"Fine, sir. Thank you," Beth replied. "All I need to heal now is time."

"And not a hospital, apparently," Tywin said.

"... No sir. Not a hospital." Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

He nodded once. "Well, the man you shot last night could not have benefited from a hospital either. He died from his wounds well before the security team reached him. His name was Dontos Hollard. A veteran from the last war who became the neighborhood drunk when he returned. But he still had some skill with a gun. We're still investigating, but my guess is that someone paid him to kill my granddaughter."

"So there may be others," Beth said.

"Yes," Tywin said. "You can understand if I'm wary of people who wear disguises."

Beth swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. I understand. But this is... unrelated to any of that."

"So I've heard. You claim that it's your way of avoiding your family," Tywin said. "Perhaps that is true. Perhaps not. Either way, I'm going to ask you some questions and I'd like you to answer them quickly. Understand?"

Beth lifted her chin. "Yes, sir."

She had played this game before. She assumed an identity and a Faceless man would question her about it to make sure she was consistent and did not forget any small details. More than that, it was a test of improvisation. If someone asked a question she wasn't prepared to answer, she had to come up with an answer quickly.

She had played this game with the likes of the Jaqen and the Waif. Surely she could win it against this man.

"Where do your parents live?" he asked.

"The Riverlands. A small town. You wouldn't know it."

"Give me the name, anyway."

"Maidenpool."

"And what did your father do for a living there?"

"Construction. Stone masonry specifically."

"Your mother?"

"She was a secretary."

"Any siblings?"

"No, I'm an only child."

He asked the questions rapid fire and Beth struggled to keep her expression impassive as she answered. Already he had touched upon some things she had not thought of, but she prepared for this. She let the answers slip off her tongue without thought.

He asked about her uncle and where he had worked as a bodyguard.

He asked about her education.

He asked how her uncle had died.

Sometimes he circled back to questions he had already asked, just to make sure that her answer was consistent. This was not the first interrogation he had conducted.

It would have all felt very invasive if Beth was not merely a facade. She began to slip into the rhythm of it, gaining confidence in her answers. She knew he must be running out of things to ask at this point.

"When is the last time you spoke with your parents?"

"Two years ago."

"Have they tried to look for you?"

"They called. Other than that, no."

"And what was your sister's name again?"

"Jeyne."

And there it was. The mistake. Beth saw the light of victory pass through Tywin Lannister's eyes and she stilled. He had asked earlier if she had siblings and she said no. But that had been so many questions ago; she had almost forgotten. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"I mean... sorry, I thought you asked my mother's name," Beth said, struggling to recover. It was pointless. She had already cracked, and he saw it. He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers together.

"You know, I have a great deal of experience with people lying to me. Most businessmen are liars. They try to bluff, hoping they can trick me into a better deal than they're worth. They rarely succeed." His gaze was like ice, piercing right through her. "And then, there was my time in the military. Sometimes we had to question enemy soldiers to root out enemy camps. Do you know the easiest way to get them to make a mistake?"

"No, sir," Beth murmured.

"Make them think they're winning," Tywin said. "You're good. You lie almost too well, considering your background. But this interrogation was admittedly unnecessary."

Beth looked up at him. "What... do you mean?"

"I already know who you are, Arya Stark," Tywin said. "The real question is, how are you alive?"

Arya's blood ran cold. And just like that, Beth left her. She was compromised, and she needed to get out _now_.

She was out of her seat in a flash, running for the door. But it did not budge when she tried the handle and it was far too solid for her to kick open. She slowly turned back to face the Lannister patriarch and found him holding a key up to the light.

"I figured you'd try to run," he said. "Just like you ran three years ago."

Arya slowly turned, leaning her back against the door. "How? You of all people. We barely ever spoke to each other. My mother didn't even recognize me."

"She did," Tywin said. "She just brushed away the possibility, considering it was so unlikely. But her noticing you at the gala last night made me suspect." He tapped the key against the desk. "I knew you were hiding something from the beginning. This was not my first guess, I'll admit. Now... Sit back down. I have more questions and this time, you'll give me the truth."

Arya's mind raced as she tried to come up with some way out of this situation. She didn't have her gun so she couldn't fight. If she had to, she could take the key by force. She didn't know if Tywin Lannister was a fighter. He was in the military, but that was a long time ago. She likely had more training than him. But then there was still the issue of her failing her mission. She had to salvage this. Beth Rivers was no more... but perhaps Arya Stark could still make something out of this situation.

At last, she pushed off of the door and slowly returned to her chair.

"Good," Tywin said. "Now, let's review the timeline of all of this. Three years ago, you ran away from home. Two years ago, your body was presumably found and buried in the Stark family cemetery. And now, you've mysteriously reappeared in King's Landing, not dead, as a bodyguard for my granddaughter." He folded his hands together. "Your reappearing at all is strange enough. But instead of going home to your family, you end up at my house on my staff. I cannot begin to guess why."

_Even I don't know, _Arya thought. _They haven't told me yet why._

"So," Tywin said. "Why are you here?"

Arya knew she would have no luck with a lie here, but she could not tell him about the Faceless men. So instead she grasped for a partial truth.

"I disappeared three years ago because I was looking for answers," she said. "My father's death wasn't an accident. He was murdered. I'm trying to find out who did it."

His eyes narrowed a fraction as he scrutinized her. "Go on."

"I've been spending the past three years searching. Investigating people that I think would have the most to gain from his death. His rivals in business mostly. He had a lot of enemies," Arya continued on. "I could never dream of getting close to this family. Not until Cersei asked for a bodyguard for Myrcella. I figured it was the perfect opportunity to see if my suspicions were correct."

"Your suspicions that someone in my family killed your father," Tywin said.

Arya held his gaze. "Yes."

She sort of expected him to get angry just then, but his expression remained calm. "And who are your suspects?"

"Everyone really," she said. "Except for Tommen and Myrcella. I don't know any of you well enough yet to say."

"So you suspect me then."

"Yes."

Tywin nodded once. "I'm sure you won't take my word for it, but I had nothing to do with your father's death."

"You're right. I won't take your word for it," Arya said. "My father always described you as the most ruthless man he'd ever met. If he was getting in your way, why not?"

"Well, killing a rival makes everything far more complicated than it needs to be," Tywin said. "It's actually far simpler for me to run their business into the ground. Or come to a compromise with them. And when your father died, we were in the midst of the latter."

Arya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"We were trying to reach a compromise that would keep us out of each other's way," Tywin said. "It was nearly complete. The contract was in the final drafting stages. And then your father died, and it threw everything off schedule. It was more inconvenient for me than helpful."

"Inconvenient?" Arya's voice cracked. "You call my father's death _inconvenient_."

"Would you like me to say I mourned him?" Tywin asked. "You know that's a lie. We weren't friends. That does not mean that I wanted him dead."

Arya swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. He was right. She wouldn't believe him if he claimed to feel grief over her father's death. And yet the fact that he admitted his indifference so coldly made her equally furious.

"But I think you may be right about something else," Tywin said. "Your father's death was not an accident."

Arya looked up in surprise. "You... believe me?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "Miss Stark, do you remember three years ago, before your father died... there were a few other notable deaths in King's Landing."

"Robert Baratheon," she recalled. "Alcohol poisoning, right?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "Who else?"

Arya had to think for a minute before she remembered. "Jon Arryn."

"Correct," Tywin said. "He was presumed to have died of old age. The death of any CEO is suspect in my mind. Two deaths more so. Three in one year is practically unheard of, and it threw the business world into chaos. The dust still hasn't fully settled. Some call it a coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences. But I wasn't sure until you returned from the dead. Now I am."

"Why?" Arya asked.

He tilted his head to the side. "Why are you so sure your father was murdered? Did someone tell you?"

_Yes, _she thought. "No."

"We've already played the lying game, Miss Stark. Did someone tell you?"

Her jaw went taut. "Yes."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust you yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you are the one who snuck onto my payroll with a fake name. So the feeling is mutual I'm afraid."

Arya dropped his gaze. "I'm just looking for the truth. That's all. I never meant Myrcella any harm."

"No. That much is clear. And I have not forgotten that you saved her life," Tywin said. "The fact that someone paid to have her killed still has me concerned. It means that something strange is still at work in this city and it could affect my family soon. So I will offer you a deal."

"A deal?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Tywin said. "I'm going to let you continue on as Myrcella's bodyguard. You can continue this little investigation of my family. I have nothing to hide regarding your father. I doubt my children or grandchildren do either. But you will keep me updated on anything you find out. And as long as you're here, I'll be running my own investigation. I also have a personal interest in this case."

"What personal interest?" Arya asked.

"Not becoming the next victim, obviously," Tywin said.

She scrutinized him. His offering to help was more than a little suspicious to her. "If you were behind my father's death… keeping me close would be an easy way for you to keep me off of your trail."

A cold smile twisted at his lips. "Miss Stark, if I was behind your father's death, I could kill you right here and eliminate the possibility of anyone finding out."

Arya lifted her chin. "With what?"

That was a bad question to ask. He reached under his desk and set a gun on the table in front of him, resting his hand on the barrel.

"This would do the trick," he said. "Your father called me ruthless, didn't he? If I killed him... do you really think I'd balk at killing you?"

A shiver went through Arya. She had no gun and no cover. No way to dodge if he pulled the trigger. So instead, she hardened her gaze and stared him down.

_Do it. I'm not afraid to die._

His mouth twitched, and his hand left the gun. "Fortunately for you, I didn't kill your father. And I have no reason to kill you. So, do you take my deal?"

Arya tried not to look too relieved when he didn't turn the gun on her. It could be a bluff, but still, it made him less likely to be the culprit. "... Yes. I do."

It was not a perfect deal, but at least she could remain employed with his family as the Faceless men asked. And this might help her find the one who killed her father faster.

At least he hadn't found out about her employers. He had bought her half-truth.

"Good," he said, standing from his desk. "I have one other condition though."

"What's that?" Arya asked.

"I'm taking you home," he said. "Now."

Her heart sank into her stomach. "I can't..." she shook her head. "You can't do that. I mean, I can't go home. That's not possible."

_I'm not Arya Stark. I am not meant to go home._

"Oh, it's entirely possible," Tywin said. "It's not a long drive from here."

"No, I mean, I just can't," Arya said. "Please. They've already buried me. If I showed back up then..."

_Then I will have to explain, but I won't be able to tell them the full truth. They won't understand. And before long... I'll have to leave them again. It will make it worse. It will make it so much worse._

But she couldn't tell Tywin Lannister any of that.

"I don't really care," Tywin said. "I'm taking you back or I'm calling your mother and bringing her here. Your choice. But it's part of the deal."

"Why does it matter to you?" Arya asked. "You don't care about my family. Why should it matter if they know I'm alive?"

"Believe me, Miss Stark, my motivations are entirely selfish," Tywin said. "If I bring you back, your mother and brother will owe me a rather larger favor. It's simple as that."

She glared at him. Of course. He would never pass up the chance to put a rival in debt to him and she didn't like him using her in that way. But she supposed that was better than him doing it out of the goodness of his heart.

"So?" Tywin asked.

"Fine," she muttered. "Fine, I'll go home."

She did not want to. She knew in her bones that it would only make things worse for everyone involved. But beneath her fear and shame, she felt her heart lift a little.

Three years since she had left King's Landing, and she had not gone a day without thinking of her family. It was selfish... but it would be sweet to see them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger, since Arya is going home next chapter. Should be a very interesting situation. And of course, Tywin is the first to figure it out (though Catelyn sort of figured it out first which helped him, she just dismissed it really quickly).
> 
> Anyway, Arya is unmasked and the mystery deepens. Until next chapter, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	15. Grief and Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me say in advance... I enjoyed the hell out of writing this chapter. And if you love angst, hopefully you will enjoy reading it. I don't know why you're reading my stuff if you don't like angst cause that's what I do lol. In any case, happy reading!

The Stark graveyard had once been full of strangers for Cat. And now it carried so many names she mourned. The first was added to the graveyard a very long time ago. Brandon Stark, an old boyfriend she had dated in college. When he died, it was the first time she had lost someone since her mother, and it had been a harsh blow. And when she fell, she fell into Ned's arms. They were both in mourning and they needed comfort from someone. Somewhere along the line, mourning had turned to friendship and friendship turned to love.

But then Ned died too. Catelyn thought it was an awful joke when she got the call. Brandon had died in a car crash. It was impossible that his brother could meet the same fate.

But it wasn't a joke. It wasn't a nightmare. It was real and there was no one to comfort her in the wake of his death.

She could not turn to her children in her grief. She was their mother, and she had to be strong for them. She was their shoulder to cry on. Their hand to hold. She had to help Robb with the business even though she hadn't used her business degree in years. She had to help take care of Bran as he adjusted to life without his legs. She had to look out for Rickon as he began lashing out and Sansa as she spent whole days locked in her room, alternating between sleeping and crying. She had to tell Jon it was okay to mourn, even if Ned was not his true father.

And Arya. Gods Arya.

With five children and a nephew to look after, it was easy to let something slip through the cracks. But that something shouldn't have been Arya. After the funeral, she seemed to be doing all right. She was quieter than usual, and sad and angry at varying intervals, just like the rest of her siblings. But she went back to school and kept up with her work and never asked Catelyn for help. Not that she had before. It was her father she went to. Always her father.

Catelyn shouldn't have trusted what she saw on the outside. Usually... usually she would have seen through her daughter but she was so tired and busy and in so much pain. So she missed it.

The next thing she knew, Arya was gone, and all she had left of her was a note slipped under her pillow.

The loss of Brandon and Ned was sudden. But Arya... that was a slow grieving process, drawn out over the course of a year. One year that oscillated between despair and hope at the very cruelest moments.

But she remembered the day that hope ended. She went back to that day even now... as she looked down at her daughter's grave.

Early that morning, Petyr had called her. One of his contacts discovered the body of a girl under a bridge. She was decomposed beyond recognition, but the police were checking the identity with dental records. No news yet... but the body was the right size.

"I'm sure it's not her," Petyr said. "There are bodies all over King's Landing. But I just wanted you to know... in case they call you later."

"Will they call whether or not it's her?" Catelyn asked.

"Yes, I expect so. Again, Cat, I wouldn't worry."

No amount of words could keep her from worrying. But still Catelyn nodded. "I'm not worried. I know she's alive somewhere. She's strong." She swallowed hard. "Thank you, Petyr."

She tried not to let the worry affect her day. She tried to carry on like normal. Work was a good distraction for her. Though if she could, she would have picked a different task than negotiating with Tywin Lannister.

Most CEOs would have left this dispute to someone lower on the totem pole. Not him. Tywin was known for micromanaging his business and with disputes with the Starks, he always managed them personally.

Today's dispute revolved around a breach in an agreement between their companies. Tywin had overstepped as he usually did and Robb was not about to let that stand. He would have negotiated himself if he was not amid a dispute with shareholders. So Catelyn had volunteered to face the lion's jaws. She was one of the few people Robb could trust not to give into him.

Some other members of the board had protested that. Umber said the slight would insult Tywin. Karstark suggested that Catelyn might not be able to handle him. Catelyn calmly reminded them of their own failures in negotiations with the Lannister CEO, and that shut them up.

And so she found herself in Tywin's office.

"The terms of the agreement we struck are clear enough to me," Catelyn said. "You don't offer your tech to our business partners in an attempt to shut us out and we don't offer our tech to yours."

"Have you done any previous business of which I am not aware with the Morrigen company?" Tywin asked mildly.

"They are a subset of Baratheon Incorporated and you know it," Catelyn said.

"Subset is a strong word, Mrs. Stark. They are their own entity. They just deal with the Baratheons frequently because they're both involved in the food industry," Tywin said. "In any case, we've discussed before that Baratheon Incorporated is a grey area."

"_You _discussed it," Catelyn said.

"Your husband was in business with the Baratheons long before me, it's true," Tywin said. "But I have three Baratheon grandchildren. If they inherit the company, will you forbid from doing business with them?"

"They aren't in charge of the company now," Catelyn said. "If they take charge, we are happy to renegotiate."

Tywin sat back slightly in his chair, his disdainful green eyes sparking with irritation. "Is this worth debating, Mrs. Stark? They are a small company. Hardly a great deal of lost business for you. And it's not my fault they like our offer."

"It's worth negotiating because I know what you're doing," Catelyn said. "You're testing out boundaries. We give you an inch and you take a mile. Your people intentionally reached out to them, hoping to cut us off." She leaned forward in her seat. "And for the record, if it were just a small company, you wouldn't be bothering with them, Mr. Lannister."

Tywin's eyes narrowed a fraction, and he opened his mouth to reply. The ring of Catelyn's phone cut him off before he could. She glanced quickly at the number, her heart leaping into her throat. Of course this call would come now of all times.

She stood quickly from her seat. "Forgive me. I have to take this."

Tywin gave her a dismissive wave of permission and she stepped out into the hall, rushing to click the 'answer' button before it stopped ringing.

"Yes, hello? This is Catelyn Stark speaking."

For the life of her, she could not remember the exact words of the detective on the phone. He apologized. He asked her to come to the station when she got the chance. But the most important word he said was 'match'. The body was a match for Arya. It was her.

She was dead.

The phone clattered from Catelyn's hands, striking the marble floor like a gunshot in the quiet hall. She could not breathe for a long moment. It was as if the news had killed her too, sucking the air right out of her lungs. But if she was dead, her mind would not be racing.

When she closed her eyes, she could see her daughter so clearly. From the day of her birth until that last morning when she rushed through a goodbye. Her little girl. And she would never see her again.

The day set out ahead of her was unbearable to think of now. She would have to go to the station and look upon what remained. She would have to tell her children and her nephew that their sister was dead, starting their grief fresh again. She imagined their tears. Their rage. Jon, who had held together the best after Ned's death... this blow would be worst of all for him. He and Arya were so close. And she had to tell them all.

_How much tragedy can we endure... before we break?_

"Mrs. Stark?"

Catelyn's head snapped up, and she found Tywin Lannister standing in front of her, holding her somehow not shattered phone in his hand. She had not heard him open the door, nor seen him until exactly that moment. His voice had jerked her back into her own body.

It took her a moment to register that he was holding the phone out to her, and she took it, quickly returning it to her purse. Her hand was trembling. She needed to speak. She needed to say something instead of standing there like a fool.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was softer than usual... as if he was worried he might startle her if he spoke any louder.

"There was..." her voice came out weak and she cleared her throat. "There was a body found this morning. They matched it to Arya." Her eyes burned as she said it out loud. That made it real. "She's... she's dead."

Tywin did not respond for a long time. What was there to say? What comfort could a man like him possibly offer? She was furious with herself for showing such weakness in front of him. She was furious with him for witnessing it.

"We'll put this meeting on hold," he said at last. "You should return home. I'll call you a car."

"I drove myself," Catelyn muttered. "I'm fine."

"I doubt that, Mrs. Stark," Tywin said, already drawing his phone from his pocket. "You shouldn't drive in this state."

"I don't need your help," she said hoarsely. "I don't... I don't want anything from you."

"Maybe not, but I'm still offering it," Tywin said, pacing away from her, dialing a number.

Catelyn's vision went out of focus again as she only half listened to him making the call. She did not move. She knew if she stopped leaning against the wall, she would falter.

"The driver will be here in five minutes," she heard him say.

She nodded once.

"Mrs. Stark?" she was aware of his proximity to her again. "I believe you should sit."

She focused on the hand he extended to her. She did not want to accept it, but she had no other choice. She gripped it as tightly as she could, trying to anchor herself as he guided her off the wall and back into his office, sitting her in the nearest chair. A few beats later, he was holding a glass of whisky in front of her. It must have been the only thing he could think to do. That, she believed, was where that drink tradition of his started. Not at the gala but then, in the moment of her greatest loss. She accepted and drank it all without comment.

She looked around the office, feeling the pain close in around her heart. "This was the last place..." she murmured. "The last place she was seen. By you."

"Yes," Tywin agreed, taking the empty glass from her. He had to carefully unwind her fingers to detach her tight grip. "It seems it was."

"You should have called," she muttered. "Called someone. Anyone. You knew she was about to run and you just _let _her. Why did you—" She stopped herself, pressing the back of her hand to her lips to stop the sob welling up in her throat.

He had the grace not to defend himself. Tywin Lannister always fought for the last word. But perhaps even he knew better than to argue with a grieving mother. Instead, he stayed silent until his phone buzzed on his desk. Then he stood.

"The car is out front."

Catelyn nodded once, standing from her seat. She was still unsteady, and her chest felt as if someone had caved it in with a hammer. But she could stand.

"Thank you, Mr. Lannister. I will return the favor at a later date." Her voice was flat but at least it was no longer trembling.

"No need to repay me," he said. "This is a courtesy. Can you make it to the car on your own?"

"Yes, I can." She hurried to grab her bag and started toward the door.

"Mrs. Stark," he called out as she opened the door. She turned back to look at him. "I am sorry for your loss. You have my condolences."

A formality, she knew. And yet for a moment, she could almost believe he was genuine.

"Keep them," she said. "If you truly want to help... you can find out who the fuck did this to my daughter."

She left before he could sneak in any last words.

In some ways, it was wrong to be angry at him. It wasn't his fault her daughter had disappeared. He didn't know her, and he had no way of knowing this would happen. If he hadn't run into Arya in the graveyard that day and shown her a strange bit of kindness, she never would have come to his office.

But Catelyn had no other target for her fury and grief. She did not know who had done this to her girl. She did not know who had left her daughter for dead. And if she did not release her anger on someone, it would all well up inside her until she broke apart at the seams.

It amazed her still, two years later that she was still standing. It had been three years since her daughter had disappeared and two since they had laid her to rest beside her father in a closed casket. And somehow, Catelyn remained. Somehow, she still had tears to shed over their graves.

She knelt before Arya's stone, tracing her fingers through the engraving of her name.

"I'm sorry," she murmured for perhaps the thousandth time in the past few years. "I'm sorry you slipped through the cracks."

And she was. More than anything else. Because Brandon and Ned's deaths had been accidents out of her control. But Arya... she would always blame herself for her.

* * *

Catelyn was just pulling into the driveway when she received a thoroughly unexpected phone call. It was an unknown number, and she thought it would be some salesman. But she recognized the voice on the other end.

"Mrs. Stark."

"Mr. Lannister." Catelyn's brow furrowed. "This is unexpected. Can I help you with something?"

"No. But I think I can help you," he said. "Are you at home right now?"

"I just got back," Catelyn said, stepping out of her car.

"Good. I will be there shortly. I have something for you."

"And you couldn't deliver this something during business hours?" she asked. She was trying to think of where he had gotten her personal phone number and recalled she had given it to him when she asked for his help to find Arya.

"It's not business," Tywin said. "You'll understand when I arrive. Goodbye."

The call ended, and it left Catelyn standing bewildered beside her car. She was reasonably sure Tywin Lannister had never once visited the Stark Manor. Perhaps because he had never been invited. Their families weren't exactly friendly. And what could he possibly have to show her?

There was something strange about his voice on the phone. Almost urgent. And that made her nervous. Any shift in Tywin's usually chilling demeanor was cause for suspicion.

* * *

Arya had spent the past few years rigorously training her mind and body at all hours of the day. She learned how to go without sleep. Without food. She learned how to withstand extraordinary amounts of pain. She had experienced withdrawals from the nastiest drug on the market. But the ride back home... it terrified her to the point of nausea.

She had stayed with the House of Black and White to protect her family, but there was never a day that passed when she did not feel guilty for the pain she must have caused them. She used to lay awake at night, thinking of all of them. Her mother. Robb. Sansa. Bran. Rickon. Jon. How desperately she missed them. Even Sansa who she used to argue with all the time. It would be so sweet to fight with her again over some meaningless thing. She wanted them all back.

But the idea of one of them dying was far worse. So she had stayed away, resigning herself to the fact that she would never see them again.

Because the deal was clear. In return for answers and vengeance and protection for her family, they meant for her to leave Arya Stark behind. She would... she would have to leave her family behind again before long.

Arya had removed the colored contacts but kept the wig, just in case a Faceless Man saw her from a distance. She could see her reflection in the window. The reflection of Arya Stark. A symbol of her failure on her mission. What would they do if they found out?

"You'll understand when I arrive," Tywin was saying on the phone. "Goodbye."

Arya shivered, crossing her arms tight across her chest as he slid his phone back into his pocket. "So... she's home then?"

"She's home," he confirmed. "She'll be relieved to see you no doubt."

"She'll be angry," Arya murmured.

"I'd say you've more than earned that," Tywin said. "You're the one who stayed away for three years."

"I _couldn't _come back," Arya said.

"So you've said," Tywin said. "You haven't said why."

"Because I can't tell you why."

"There are an awful lot of things you can't do," Tywin aid. "Almost as if someone is telling you not to do them."

She glared up at him. "Why do you care where I've been? It has nothing to do with you."

"Doesn't it?" Tywin asked. "I was the last one to see you before you disappeared. Your mother enlisted my help to find you which I was unable to do. And I was with her when the police called to tell her they had found your body. On top of that, when you finally reappeared, it was working for my family, protecting my granddaughter. So yes, Miss Stark, it is my business. You made it my business the moment you came to my office to pay that damn debt of yours."

There was a harsh note to his voice and Arya had to steel herself to keep from flinching. She had met with all sorts of people in the past three years, many of them terrifying. So she did not understand why she still found _this _man so intimidating.

Maybe it was just the cut of his words. That her mother had been forced to seek help with _him_. She was sorry for putting her mother through that, and guilty all over again for letting her family think she was dead.

"More to the point," Tywin said, his voice steady again. "It's not exactly easy to hide from me. People have tried to do it before. The fact that you stayed off my radar is a feat. I can't help but be curious how you managed it."

Arya shifted in her seat. She had managed it because she barely left the House of Black and White her first year. "I was... indoors a lot."

He glanced at her. "Were you being _kept _indoors?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. I-"

"Can't tell me. Yes, I assumed," he said. "We're almost there."

Yes. They were. Arya didn't need him to tell her that. She had driven down this road so many times she knew it by memory. And sometimes... sometimes in Braavos she used to close her eyes and imagine coming home.

This was familiar territory for her and perhaps that was what made it so painful.

* * *

Catelyn was pacing the front hall, absently scrolling through emails but barely reading any of them. She found it difficult to simply carry on with her day after such a strange phone call, and she couldn't stop thinking of what Tywin meant by 'something'.

They never communicated on anything outside of business. The only time they had was when Arya went missing. Catelyn had, in a moment of anger, told him to find out who had killed her daughter if he wanted to help. But that was a shot in the dark. Not a task she expected him to pick up. No... It couldn't have anything to do with that. Tywin Lannister was not one for such charity.

But what else could it be?

The knock came, and she steeled herself to answer the door. When she did, sure enough, Tywin Lannister was standing on her porch. And someone else was standing in his shadow, just out of sight.

"Morning," he said, grasping his shadow by the collar and maneuvering her in front. "This is what I came to show you."

For a long moment, Catelyn could not process what she was seeing. A ghost, surely. Not something tangible. And yet Tywin was solidly gripping the shoulder of the shade. And even he could not possibly grasp a ghost.

"Arya?" she breathed out.

The ghost looked up at her with wide grey eyes. Her daughter's eyes. Yes. It was her. "Mom... I..."

Catelyn fell to her knees in front of Arya, pulling her into her arms. Just to make sure... she was real. Gods, she felt real. Warm. Alive. She had not grown an inch since she last saw her but her body felt leaner and harder. Her hair was cut short. And when she pulled back to look at her, she could see her face was three years aged—the face of a young woman rather than a girl. But it was Arya. Her girl. Her lost girl come home to her. It was all she could do not to break down in sobs.

"Where have you been?" she asked, cupping her face in her hands. "Three years Arya. What happened to you? We thought you were dead. They... they found your body."

"I know," her daughter's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean for this to happen. I know you're angry but-"

"I'm not angry." Catelyn shook her head. "I will be. Later. I'll be furious. But not now... I'm just so glad to see you alive." She stroked her cheeks with her thumbs, brushing away her tears. She was crying too like she hadn't cried in years. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She felt her daughter shudder beneath her hands. "I know. I know, I'm sorry."

Catelyn shook her head, pulling her back into her arms. This couldn't be real, even though it felt real. She was not used to good things happening in the fall. But if it was real... Catelyn would thank every god in the universe for this fortune.

"Are the others here?" Arya mumbled into her shoulder.

"Most of them are out," Catelyn said, pulling back from the hug. "But Bran and Rickon are upstairs. Go see them. We'll talk about this... everything... after."

Arya nodded once. Then she ducked past her and hurried toward the main stairs. Catelyn straightened, watching her daughter go. And only then did she remember that Tywin Lannister was still standing on her porch.

He remained still and silent throughout the reunion, likely wishing that he did not have to deal with the display of emotion. And now he watched her, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting to see how she would respond to this extraordinary turn of events.

"This... isn't a dream is it?" she asked at last.

"If it was, I highly doubt I would be here," Tywin said.

"Good point," Catelyn said. Even her wildest dream couldn't come up with something like this. She jerked a hand through her hair. "Would you... like a drink? I have a few questions."

"I imagine you do. So do I." A shadow of a smile crossed his face. "I'll take a drink."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things about writing Tywin is that he's very good at mind games and absolutely NOT good at ANYTHING that involves emotion, so I like to find situations that make him go "yeah, okay, I have no idea what to fuck to do here because there are feelings involved and I don't like those" and then watch the fun. And this was CERTAINLY a chapter full of those moments. And I got to write more Catelyn and Tywin interactions in addition to Arya and Tywin and both of those are ALWAYS my fave.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed as well. Gonna be WAY more Stark feels next chapter, and over the next few chapters. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	16. A Reluctant Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty everyone, who's ready for reunions and also more Tywin and Catelyn talking about this wild situation. I sure am! Enjoy!

If Bran could write a timeline of his life, there would be an easy breaking point. Before the crash and after the crash.

Before the crash, his life was ideal. He had top grades in school, plenty of friends, and he was regularly placing at rock climbing and bouldering competitions. His family had their occasional fights, but Bran got along with every one of his siblings and his cousin. Not to mention, he was the second son of one of the wealthiest families in King's Landing. He wanted for absolutely nothing. Not that he realized that at the time. Thirteen-year-old boys never really did.

And then the crash.

Bran could not remember that night with any clarity. He did not remember what he and his father were discussing before it came. The doctors blamed memory loss. But he dreamed sometimes of the crash. Of the sudden crunch of metal, the sensation of falling, the shattering of glass. The pain.

And then... silence. And darkness.

When Bran woke up, they told him that his father was dead and that he was paralyzed from the waist down. He would never walk again. And just like that... everything he used to understand about himself was gone.

The rock climbing tournaments became impossible. Rickon told him that maybe he could learn to climb without his legs and Bran had snapped at him for trying to make him feel better. But Bran could have lived without that, he supposed. If his father had lived.

But he didn't. He had died because he was driving Bran home instead of sending a driver to pick him up, because their father liked to make time for them when he could. That was one of the most wonderful things about him. And once he died, perfect family life left with him.

Robb and his mother threw themselves into the company so they did not have time to think about anything else but work. And Rickon started acting out and getting into fights more. And Sansa jumped between bad relationships, ignoring the red flags because she wanted a distraction.

And Arya...

Arya disappeared altogether.

_Everyone has different, terrible ways of dealing with their shit, _Meera Reed once told Bran, and he found that he agreed with her. He had his own awful coping strategies. Pushing away friends was key among them. Meera Reed and her brother Jojen were the only ones he had kept from before the accident because they were the only ones too stubborn to leave. He once told them he never wanted to see them again, and they spent the next few hours lying on his floor doing homework. When he insisted they leave again, Meera had looked up, eyebrows raised and said: _"Make us"._

None of the others had tried nearly so hard, so Bran let them all go. That was for the best. Two friends were plenty. But his other coping strategy... that one was more unique.

It started at his father's funeral when he had to endure the pity in everyone's eyes as they talked to him. They asked him in such sad tones if he would _really _never walk again. They said they were _sorry _for his loss. And they looked at him like he was dead himself. Someone else to mourn. It made Bran angrier than he could say, and for a while it had made him wish that he was dead. That seemed better than having to return to school or endure one more conversation with someone who only pretended to care.

Then one day, when he was online, he saw that one of his old friends was in rehab for nearly overdosing on drugs. One of the Frey kids. He had always seemed so cool and in control but all the while he was hooked on this new stuff that had almost melted his brain.

The next day, he read the news and saw a story about a divorce between the parents of one of his other old friends. They had seemed so happy in public, but they had been hiding marital issues for years.

That was when Bran realized the truth—everyone in the world had something for which to be pitied. Alcoholism, drugs, soliciting sex workers to cure the loneliness inside of them, bad break ups, abusive relationships, divorces, collapsed businesses. It was just that the wealthy elite of King's Landing kept all of that hidden deep down and pretended that they were fine. His family did the same thing after they lost their father and sister. They shoved all the grief and rage and fear into some deep place inside of them and they smiled for the camera. Bran—he couldn't hide his wheelchair. It was obvious to anyone who looked at him. But he _could _discover the dark secrets of those who pitied him. That way when he looked at them, he wouldn't have to feel so small. He would know that they were just as fucked up as him.

So he started gathering information. He looked into the business of everyone at his school and cataloging their secrets. Then he moved onto their parents. Not for any nefarious purposes. He wouldn't use them for blackmail. That wasn't the point. He just wanted to know. It made moving through the world just a little easier. Though he toyed with what would happen if he published some 'tell all' book about the King's Landing upper crust. How would they react? How would they try to save face with the press?

He was clicking through pictures from the Charity Gala, thinking about that very idea that morning. Everyone looked good for the cameras, but he could tell some horrible secret about nearly every smiling face.

A text came through on his phone. Jojen.

_J: We going out later?_

Bran thought for a moment before replying.

_B: Maybe. Have to build up the patience._

_J: Or I could drag you out of your house by force._

Bran's mouth twitched.

_B: Was that Meera?_

_J: How did you know?_

_B: Intuition._

He drummed his fingers on the desk absently, waiting for a reply. Then the door creaked open. Assuming it was his mother, he quickly closed down his window, so it looked like he was doing homework. "Need something?"

There was a long silence which was strange enough to make Bran turn his wheelchair around. And he found himself staring at a ghost.

The last time he saw Arya, she was begging him not to tell their mother she was skipping school. And he had listened to her, because he understood. He didn't want to go to school either, but he didn't have the luxury of making a quick escape like his sister. So he agreed, and he regretted that every day since then.

Now she was standing in front of him. Her hair was red and curly and her skin a few shades darker, covered in freckles. But it was her, hovering in the door, chewing on her lip.

"Is this... the sleep deprivation kicking in?" he asked.

"No," Arya said. "Though... though if you're worried about that, you probably should sleep."

Bran swallowed hard past a well of emotion. "So you're really here. Alive. How?"

"It's a long story," she said.

"Three years long, obviously."

She nodded once. "I'm sorry. I... I really am."

"I'd hope so." Bran looked up at her. "Well... are you going to make me come to you? Because that's rude to do to a person in a wheelchair."

Her eyes filled with tears and she hurried over to him, drawing him into a hug. She felt real when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Solid. She wasn't a dream.

"You've grown a lot," she said when she finally pulled back from him.

"Though not taller, obviously," Bran said.

"You've gotten taller," Arya said. "You just can't stand to prove it."

"You're right. If I could, I would definitely be taller than you."

She crossed her arms. "Well, that's not a competition Bran. Everyone is taller than me."

A smile cracked across his face. It really was her. She hadn't grown at all, but she had aged. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and there was a nervousness to her that had never been there before. She was always his fearless sister. The very first one to attempt a stupid idea to see what happened.

This stupid idea seemed to have gone too far for her.

"Bran, I have a homework question!" Rickon's voice came from down the hall and Arya turned to face the door, taking a few steps backward as Rickon appeared. He saw her and dropped his notebook. The pencil went rolling across the floor.

"Hey," Arya said awkwardly. "I'm home."

Rickon, unlike most of the family, had never been one to suppress his emotions. He was already starting to cry when he crossed the room to Arya, wrapping her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground and swung her around.

Bran could not help but smile. Three years ago, the car crash that took his legs had irreparably shattered their family. They would never really be whole again, he knew. But it was a relief to see one of their missing pieces come back to them.

* * *

If someone had asked Tywin a few years ago, or even yesterday, if he would ever be invited inside the Stark manor as a guest, the answer would have been 'no'. But then, he hadn't expected to find the dead Stark girl working for him either, so life was recently full of surprises.

Catelyn Stark still hadn't processed what just happened. He could see her mind rapidly trying to work through it all. That her daughter was alive was enough of a shock. That_ he_ had found her was probably more so.

She handed him a shallow glass of whisky before pacing away, sipping at her own. He could see her fighting the urge to drink it all at once. He turned the glass in his hands.

"I didn't take you for a whisky drinker," he said lightly.

"What kind of drinker did you take me for?" Catelyn asked.

He thought about it a moment. "The wine sort."

"Well... wine isn't strong enough for this situation. Not nearly strong enough." She turned her glass in her hand. "I'm actually not sure this is strong enough either."

"I suppose it will have to do for now," Tywin said.

Catelyn let out a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then she looked at him. "Where did you find her?"

"In my house," he said. "She was posing as a bodyguard for my granddaughter."

"That..." Catelyn's brow furrowed. "That does not make any sense."

"No, it does not," he agreed.

"Did she tell you _why?_"

"She did. I don't fully believe her but she did," Tywin said. "According to her, she's spent the past three years searching for her father's killer. Her most recent efforts brought her onto my payroll, because she suspects someone in my family of the deed."

Catelyn finished the rest of her drink, apparently deciding against propriety at the moment. Then she sat down in a chair across from him, steepling her fingers together in front of her face as she tried to gather her thoughts. He honestly sympathized with the woman. Every sentence of explanation he offered just opened up more questions.

"I put up with hearing the tabloids speculate," she said at last. "I put up with _friends _speculating. 'Are you sure it was an accident?' 'Your husband had a lot of enemies. Are you _sure'_." She shook her head. "I dismissed them but somewhere along the line she must have heard one of the rumors and... locked it into her mind as a certainty. Gods, I should have seen that." She looked up at him. "Did she say why she suspected you?"

"Well, it was no secret that I didn't get along with your husband, Mrs. Stark," Tywin said. "Perhaps that was enough for her."

She exhaled, moving a hand through her red hair. All of this exhausted her, and it wasn't the kind of exhaustion that came from a few nights' lost sleep. It was a part of her now after these three years.

"More to the point," Tywin said. "I agree with your daughter on one matter. I do think someone killed your husband."

"Gods... you too?" Catelyn asked in a heavy voice.

"Yes," Tywin said. "I think you must have suspected it as well. But it was easier to think it was an accident."

"Sometimes accidents _do _happen," Catelyn said.

"Yes. Sometimes," Tywin said. "I wouldn't have questioned it if it didn't come on the tail end of the deaths of Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon."

She sighed. "And _now _you're sounding like Ned."

_I wonder if that should insult me, _Tywin thought. "How so?"

"He was sure that Jon Arryn didn't die of old age," Catelyn said. "He had seen him two days before and he seemed healthy. Talked to him on the phone that morning. These things come on suddenly sometimes but... but he didn't believe it. And then Robert died, and he suspected that as well."

"Interesting," Tywin said. "Did he ask questions about it?"

"Yes. Of course he did," Catelyn said.

"And soon after he died."

She looked up at him and he could see in her eyes that her mind was making connections she had ignored in an effort to push forward. She and her daughter had both stood on the edge at one point, wondering if Ned Stark's death was not an accident. Catelyn had stepped away from the edge and Arya had taken the plunge.

Catelyn rested her head between her hands. "All right... let's say I'm considering this. Do you have suspects?"

"None yet," Tywin said. "Your daughter may be the key, however."

"If I'm not mistaken, you told me she suspects _you _at the moment."

"Yes," Tywin said. "But I told you there was a part of her story I didn't believe. When you came to my manor three years ago and asked for my help, I _did _set people to looking for her. I found nothing. Which is unusual, especially with the whereabouts of a fifteen-year-old girl. If she was searching the city for culprits as she claims, she would have left a paper trail at some point. Someone would have spotted her. But they didn't. And then there's that body the police found under the bridge. Which we now know wasn't your daughter at all."

Catelyn's brow furrowed. "No... it wasn't. But the police said it was a match. Did they falsify the results? With what purpose?"

"Because they wanted everyone to believe Arya was dead, presumably," Tywin said. "And we didn't question it because it was the first we had heard of her in a year. But now that we know she wasn't dead... I think someone was keeping your daughter somewhere."

Her fingers wound tightly around each other and her jaw went taut. "Keeping her?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "It's not just the fact that no one could find her. It's the injuries. Our family doctor noticed them last night when he was stitching up a gunshot wound."

"She was _shot_?" Catelyn's voice cracked on the question.

"Yes. Last night, protecting my granddaughter from a would-be assassin. This has been an interesting last twenty-four hours for me as well, Mrs. Stark." He set down his now empty glass. "Not to worry. Your daughter is fine. It was a minor graze. But it's not the only wound she has picked up in the past three years. The doctor reported she had quite a few other scars from various injuries."

Her eyes were blue like water, but somehow they were burning with fury. Just the thought of someone keeping her daughter from her and hurting her in any way, seemed to make her want to overturn the table in front of her. But she didn't. She stayed still and calm.

"Do you know who?'

"No. She wouldn't tell me," Tywin said. "She was afraid when I asked how she knew someone killed her father. And she was even more afraid when I told her I was bringing her home. Almost as if she was breaking some important rule."

Catelyn did not reply. There wasn't much to say. This was a great deal of information to process.

"Admittedly, it might have been a mistake to bring her back here," Tywin said. "It may have been easier to find the culprit if I had let her stay in disguise. But I don't think you would have forgiven me if I kept your daughter from you."

"What does my forgiveness matter to you?" she asked.

"Not much. But your cooperation matters a great deal," Tywin said. "Especially since I believe that the person who kept your daughter and killed your husband are closely connected." He leaned forward. "You asked me three years ago to help you find your daughter. I have. And now I'm going to ask for a favor in return."

"What favor," Catelyn asked quietly. There was a nervousness in her eyes. She knew that he could demand a great deal from her. And she would not refuse it. She was an honorable woman.

"I need you to keep your daughter's return a secret," he said. "You can tell your family. No one else. But for all intents and purposes, your daughter will remain as Beth Rivers, my granddaughter's bodyguard. I'll take her back with me to the manor once she's finished her reunions and keep her there. Right now, she thinks I believe her story. I'll let her keep believing that and I'll poke holes in her lies when I can. But I would say she's more likely to give the truth to you than me."

"And if we get the truth?" Catelyn asked. "Then what?"

"That will depend on the nature of the truth," Tywin said. "Regardless, I need you to follow my lead with this."

She observed him with a skeptical expression. He did not blame her. He was asking a lot from the woman, but chief among those things was trust, and that was not something that passed easily between Stark and Lannister. That was the primary reason he had brought Arya home. Because he needed her trust and her help, though he hated to admit it. Whoever had come for her family was coming for his. He was sure of it. He would not end up the next victim. Nor would anyone else with Lannister blood.

"If you put my daughter in any unnecessary danger-"

"I won't," Tywin said. "At least not beyond the dangers of being a bodyguard. But I assure you, on that front, she can handle herself."

Catelyn swallowed hard. "Is... your granddaughter all right?"

"She's fine," Tywin said. "Shaken. But it would have been worse if you daughter hadn't been there."

"Seems you owe her a debt then," Catelyn said.

Tywin's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Yes. It seems so. I hope we'll all pay our debts before the end."

Catelyn nodded once, standing from her seat and pacing over to the piano at the far end of the room. "You'll leave Arya here for the rest of the day. I'll dismiss any staff still in the house to make sure they don't see her. We don't have many of them here today, so it shouldn't be a problem. And I don't think any have seen her thus far."

"Good," Tywin said. "Fewer people to swear to secrecy then."

Catelyn drummed her nails against the piano. "You can come back for her tonight and she can return to being Beth Rivers. No one outside of our families will know. And... I'll cooperate with you as much as I can."

Tywin nodded once. "We have a deal then?"

"Yes. We have a deal." Catelyn turned back to look at him. "But if you let something happen to her..." She trailed off for a moment trying to find the words. "I've mourned her once already. Now she's back. I cannot do it again."

No. A blow like that would be too much for anyone to endure. Hard enough to lose someone once. To have them return, only to lose them again...he imagined that would be far worse.

"Nothing will happen to her. You have my word," he said. He meant the promise, though he was not entirely sure if he could keep it. Safety was never a guarantee in King's Landing. He stood to go. "I'll be back this evening then."

"Yes," Catelyn said. "I hope you know this won't affect our business."

"Oh, I didn't dream it would, Mrs. Stark," Tywin said, heading toward the door. She stopped him when he reached the parlor door.

"Mr. Lannister."

He glanced back at her.

"... Thank you," she said with great effort. "For bringing my daughter back."

His inclined his head. "No need to thank me. I'm sure you'll repay the debt in time."

* * *

Catelyn did not let herself falter until Tywin Lannister left. Only then did she sink onto the couch, her head in her hands. She could feel herself trembling. This was so much—too much—to take in. She had just gone to the cemetery that day to mourn her daughter, only to have her back in her house and an hour later, returned to her by a _Lannister _no less. Not just a Lannister. _The _Lannister.

When she had asked for Tywin's help three years ago, it was more a desperate plea than anything. She didn't really think he would try to find her daughter, not even when he promised he would. Because Tywin Lannister had more important things to do with his time.

And then he showed up on her doorstep, holding her daughter by the collar like a stray he had found out in the rain. How was she supposed to absorb that?

She rose from her seat and drifted through the parlor and up the stairs. She had to see her again, just to make sure this had not been a very bizarre dream. She heard laughing from Bran's room and she slipped over to peer through the gap in the door.

Through the crack, she could see her three youngest children, together for the first time in three years. Bran in his chair, smiling like he hadn't in years. Rickon practically bouncing around the room as he told Arya about a fight he'd had a few months ago at school. And there was Arya, sitting on Bran's bed, one knee tucked up to her chest, a little smile on her lips.

Her girl, the one she thought she lost, was really there. She kept expecting her to disappear, but she didn't. It was almost too good to be true.

Almost. Because even though Arya was back, her return had ripped the blinders from Catelyn's eyes. All the suspicions about Ned's death which she had shoved to the back of her mind. It wasn't because she didn't care. It was because she could not deal with the paranoia that came with it. Because if someone _had _killed Ned, then they could have come for Robb or any of the rest of her children. That possibility was too much for her to bear so she had ignored it.

Arya hadn't. Arya had stumbled right into the belly of the beast. Catelyn wanted nothing more than to sweep into the room, take her daughter by the shoulders, and shake her. Ask what in the world had happened to her. But if what Tywin said was true and someone had been keeping her locked away... hurting her...

No. She couldn't approach her daughter like that. She had to be smart about this and she had to be careful, or else she knew she risked losing her again. And, against all odds, she had to cooperate with Tywin Lannister.

Ned had to be rolling in his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Rickon were probs the simplest people for Arya to reunite with. More reunions coming next time and they're a bit more emotionally complicated. But I'm all about angst, so it should be fun.
> 
> Also I very much enjoyed writing this Tywin and Catelyn scene because he REFUSES to deliver shocking news with any amount of gravity. Just casually drops that Arya was almost shot like its nothing and poor Catelyn is just trying to absorb all of this crazy info. Its a good time all around.
> 
> That's all for now. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	17. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did some of y'all order Stark angst? Cause I brought more Stark angst. This time we get a Robb POV so you Robb fans can enjoy! Also, Jon and Theon are there :) Happy reading!

After the previous long night at the Charity Gala, surrounded by people he couldn't stand, Robb was glad to be spending that Sunday out with two people he cared about. Jon had the day off of work and Theon _claimed_ he did, though he could have just been dumping his responsibilities onto his older sister again.

They had been an inseparable trio since they were boys. They were always in the same year at school, competing at everything from sports to grades to girls. Or at least, Theon and Robb competed. Jon mostly watched from the sidelines and played the occasional mediator. People expected less of Jon. He was not training to inherit any empire. He could do whatever he wanted after school, and their parents wouldn't have protested.

But it wasn't the same for Robb. He had always known he would succeed his father one day. He was happy to do it. He had a knack for business, and he was a natural in negotiations. People seemed to like him without him having to try very hard. So it excited him to train under his father and, eventually, take over when he retired and finally had time to rest.

It hadn't happened like that. Robb had only just graduated from university when the car crash snatched his father away. And suddenly, he wasn't training _under _anyone. He was the face of the company. The youngest CEO in Westeros, scrambling to keep Stark Industries together as the vultures descended upon them. The last three years had been the hardest of his life. If he hadn't had his mother to help, he was sure he would have failed.

But he was still standing.

At this age, he expected to be more like Theon. Still learning the ropes. Still able to skip out on work occasionally, because they could handle the company without him. Theon's father was still alive, and his older sister was ahead of him in the chain of command. There was pressure, yes, but not enough to dampen Theon's spirits. Robb felt as if he was under a crushing weight all the time.

Jon had wanted to help Robb. Even though he hadn't gone to school for business and had little to no interest in it, he had offered.

"_If you need me, I'll be there. I'll go to school for it. Say the word."_

But Robb knew Jon would be miserable in this profession. Better that he became a cop. That was much more suited to his skills, and he knew their father would be proud.

"You survived your first week on the force." Theon said, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "First drink is on me. Then the rest are on you."

"You both make way more money than I do," Jon pointed out.

"It's not about the _money, _Jon. It's the gesture," Theon said, sliding a beer across the bar and into Jon's hand. "So, you haven't fouled up yet, eh? They're keeping you around for another week?"

"Seems so," Jon said.

"At this rate they might keep you around for two," Robb said.

"Maybe even three," Theon said. "But let's not be too optimistic."

A little smile crossed Jon's face. Robb's cousin wasn't exactly what one would call the cheerful type. He was naturally brooding, and it had only gotten more severe in the last three years. So a smile like that meant that he was truly happy.

"All right, all right, in all sincerity," Robb said, lifting his beer. "To Jon. You're perfect for this line of work and you'll do a damn good job."

"To Jon," Theon agreed, raising his beer.

Jon raised his beer in thanks and drank deeply. "So. Did you both make it through the Gala last night?"

"Half of it," Theon said. "Then I bailed because there was a _much _more exciting party downtown."

"And left me to fend for myself," Robb said. "But it was fine. Not as bad as last year. Or the year before that."

"They say it gets easier every year," Jon murmured. And Robb knew he wasn't talking about the gala.

"Yeah. Let's hope," he said.

"Tyrion's party was the real highlight," Theon said. "Though apparently I missed the imp slapping Joffrey Baratheon across the face."

"Now that's a real shame," Robb said. "I'll bet someone got it on video. I'll have Bran do a search later."

"Are you so old that you need to ask your little brother for help with computers now?" Theon asked.

"No, but he'll manage it faster than me, and he has more time on his hands," Robb said.

"Hmm," Jon said, sounding like he wasn't listening. Robb noticed he was looking across the room and followed his gaze to see he was watching a woman. She was a petite girl with a mess of orange curls atop her head. Her mouth was crooked, but she was pretty. Robb nudged Jon with his elbow.

"Have your eye on someone there?"

Jon blinked and shook his head. "What? No. I was just... thinking."

"Uh huh. _Thinking_," Theon said. "Why don't you introduce yourself, Jon? You know that men in your line of work need to have _confidence_."

"I'm all right, thanks," Jon said.

"Fine then," Theon pushed off the bar. "I'll make the introduction for you."

"Please don't," Jon said, but Theon was already halfway over to the girl. Robb gave Jon a pat on the shoulder.

"You've got to take a risk, Jon."

Jon looked like he would much rather die.

"Haven't seen you around before," Theon was saying. "What's your name?"

"Really? Is that your opener?" the girl raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a classic guy," Theon said. "Name's Theon."

"Ygritte," the girl said.

"Funny name. Haven't heard it before," he said.

"And I've never heard Theon before," she said. "So I guess we're even."

"Guess so," Theon said. "But I'm not introducing myself. I wondered if you might have a chat with my friend over there. He's definitely got a name you've heard before. Jon." He jerked his head in their direction and Jon looked like he might want to bury his head in his arms.

"Which one?" the girl asked curiously.

"That's not a no," Robb told Jon in a whisper.

"The dark-haired one," Theon said. "He's a little shy, but you won't regret it."

The girl tilted her head to the side. "He's got a pretty face." She looked up at Theon. "But didn't I hear you say he was a cop?"

"He sure is," Theon said. "Just finished his first week."

Her smile turned acidic. "Sorry then. Coppers aren't my type." She pushed off the bar and made her way toward the door. "Tell him he can find me when he quits."

"Ah." Robb sighed. "Bad luck, Jon."

"Bad luck indeed," Theon returned to them. "Especially since you have a thing for gingers."

"I don't have a _thing _for gingers," Jon said.

"Then why have most of your crushes been gingers?" Theon said. "Damn. She liked you; I could tell. I would think most girls would like cops."

"She's probably had a run in with the law," Robb said. "Better she didn't say yes then."

"I don't know. Dangerous girls can be fun," Theon said. His phone buzzed on the bar and he checked. "Damn... Yara is getting impatient. I'm gonna have to leave you early."

"You could only duck responsibility for so long, huh?" Robb asked.

Theon flipped him off and headed for the door. "Catch you later. We'll get Jon the girl next time!"

When the door swung closed, Robb sighed and returned to his seat beside Jon, who was staring quietly at his drink. "Sorry about that. Theon means well."

"It's not that," Jon said. "It was nice of him to try. Usually he just flirts with them himself."

"True. Maybe he's growing up," Robb said. "What's bothering you then?"

"Oh, you know. The time of the year," Jon said. "I also didn't get much sleep last night. Someone reported a body near Tyrion Lannister's party. They had heard gunshots and went to check it out. But the time we got there, someone had picked it up." He shrugged. "We're still looking but... I didn't get much sleep."

"Yeah, I hear you," Robb said. "This city is a fucking mess."

Every level of King's Landing was a viper's nest from the poor to the rich. The businessmen fought for power and wealth and petty criminals killed each other over their next fix. There was a new drug going around that was causing a lot of problems for the police. 'The Long Night' they called it, because it gave you one hell of a long night. But overdosing was easy and sometimes a bad dose made the druggie violent. It had caused a rise in random shootings and attacks.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked. It was from his mother.

_M: Where are you?_

He exhaled. Gods, he hoped there wasn't a crisis at work. He wasn't in the mood right now.

_R: Out with Jon._

_M: Good. I need you both to come home._

Robb's brow furrowed as he tapped out his response.

_R: Why? Is everything okay?_

_M: Yes. I just need you home as soon as possible._

_M: And text your sister. She's not answering me._

Robb sighed.

_R: Will do. We're on our way._

"What's up?" Jon asked.

"My mom wants us home as soon as possible," Robb said. "Both of us."

"Why?" Jon asked. "You don't think... something happened, do you?"

"No. No, I'm sure everything is fine," Robb said. But he shared Jon's fears. Like he said, it was the time of year. And bad things seemed to happen to their family in the autumn months.

* * *

They were home in the next thirty minutes. Nothing seemed amiss in the house. There was no wailing from upstairs and Robb did not smell a fire. When the door closed, Rickon came barreling into the front hall, the biggest grin on his face.

"You won't believe it," he said. "You really won't!"

"Believe what, Rick?" Robb asked.

"Come see." Rickon latched onto his arm. "Just come see."

So Robb let his little brother drag him into the east wing, past the dining room and into the kitchen. His mother was making lunch, which was strange because usually the cook handled that. In fact, he hadn't seen any of their maids around as he moved through the house. And he was so fixated on his mother chopping fruit, he didn't notice the actual shocking theme in the room.

"Oh gods," Jon whispered beside him. And then he saw. There, perched on the edge of the island, letting her feet swing back and forth, was Arya. Their sister Arya. Their _dead _sister Arya. She looked up and saw Jon and her eyes filled with tears.

"Hey."

Jon rushed forward, catching her up in a tight hug. Robb could see his shoulders shaking from here. He was crying. Of course he was. Jon had adored Arya, and she had adored him. When she went missing—and when they later discovered her body under the bridge—it had shattered him. He had been practically inconsolable for a week afterward.

Robb had been too. He had been numb and angry and confused. And he knew he should cry with relief seeing his sister alive again, but the tears wouldn't come. He just... didn't understand...

"How?" he managed at last. "How are you alive?"

Jon set Arya on the ground and she turned to face Robb, shifting from foot to foot. She always did that when she was guilty of something terrible that she did not know how to explain.

"The... the body they found was a mistake," Arya murmured. "I was never dead."

"Then why did you stay away?" Robb asked. "Three years. You weren't here. You must have known we thought you were dead. Why didn't you... call or... something?"

Arya swallowed hard. "I couldn't."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

"_Why_," Robb snapped, his voice cracking. Because he knew what this had done to his family. He saw the aftermath of it all. His mother nearly shattering to pieces, his sister feeling responsible because she said something 'rude' to Arya that morning. Bran feeling responsible because he knew Arya was skipping school and told no one. Rickon having to be pulled off a student who dared to mention Arya's name a few days later at school, lest he knock his teeth out. He didn't blame Arya for that then, because she was dead. It couldn't be her fault.

But if she was alive the whole time?

"Why, Arya? Give me an answer," Robb said, feeling the anger rise inside him. His mother slid between them, putting two gentle hands on his shoulder.

"Robb. Calm down."

"No. She doesn't get to be cryptic after all of this time. She doesn't get to come back and pretend nothing happen. She doesn't get to pretend we didn't _bury _her."

Arya flinched, but she did not fight back. And that was wrong too. Arya always fought back, even when she was wrong, but she was just taking it. That made him angrier. And sadder and more confused. Gods, what was happening?

"Robb, I need to speak to you for a minute," his mother murmured. "Out in the hall. Come on."

He let his mother push him from the kitchen. Once they were out of sight, Robb let out a heavy breath, jerking a hand through his hair. "I don't understand."

"I know. Neither do I," Catelyn said.

"When did she come back?" Robb asked.

"An hour ago," Catelyn said. "Tywin Lannister brought her home."

"He... _what?_" Robb shook his head. "Why? How? How did _he _find her?"

"It's a long story," Catelyn said. "And neither of us knows all the details yet."

So she explained it to him. She explained where Arya had been when Tywin had discovered her, what she had told him about her time away and Tywin's own theories about what was happening. The idea that someone had been keeping Arya somewhere—abusing her—for three years made Robb's blood boil.

At the same time, guilt flashed through him. He had snapped at Arya in the kitchen, thinking she would willingly stay away from them. But that wasn't Arya. He should have suspected something had happened.

"She's keeping a tight lid on where she's been," Catelyn said. "And demanding answers won't get anything from her. If we give her time... she may let something slip."

"Right," Robb murmured. He wanted to know the truth now. He wanted to demand it right this instant. But she was right. Ganging up on Arya wouldn't do any good. "So... what about that favor Lannister wanted?"

"He's taking Arya back with him tonight," Catelyn said. "And he wants our cooperation in... figuring all of this out."

"Does he really care so much where Arya has been?" Robb asked.

"Well, he wouldn't, I'm sure," Catelyn said. "But whatever happened to us could happen to the Lannisters. And he's not wrong to suspect it. Someone tried to kill his granddaughter last night."

Robb swallowed hard. "So... what do we do?"

"Cooperate with him," Catelyn said. "Like he asked. We're in debt to him for this. I don't think Arya would have come home if he hadn't discovered her. So we try to pay the debt best we can and... hope that he doesn't use this to his advantage in our later negotiations."

"It's Tywin Lannister. He'll use absolutely anything to his advantage," Robb said.

"I know. But for now, we don't have a choice but to work with him." His mother clasped his face in her hands. "If... if someone murdered your father... that puts you in danger, Robb. And if someone held Arya prisoner, that means she's still in danger. Even if this leads nowhere, I need to be sure all of you are safe. If that means working with Tywin, then I'll make that sacrifice."

Robb nodded once. Yes. There didn't seem to be much of a choice. And she was right about the danger to their family. Something was going on in this fucking city and they needed to find out what before someone else died.

"For now, go talk to your sister," Catelyn said. "And try not to be angry at her. Once we figure out the truth...then we'll decide how we feel from there."

"All right," Robb said. "I will."

He took a deep breath and turned, returning to the kitchen. Arya had taken over their mother's job of cutting the fruit, using the knife slowly and methodically. She looked up when he entered but then quickly went back to what she was doing.

Robb padded over the island, aware that his other siblings were watching him as he did, wondering what he would say. He ruffled Arya's hair as he passed, then leaned against the counter beside her.

"I'm sorry I snapped," he murmured.

Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. "I'm... sorry I didn't come home sooner."

"Doesn't matter now. You're back," he said.

She gave him a sad smile, tears welling up in her eyes. "Yeah. It's nice to be back."

Robb let out a heavy breath and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He did not understand where she had been or what she had seen in the past three years. But anything that could make his sister look at him like that... it couldn't have been easy.

* * *

It surprised Jaime to receive a call from his father the day after the Gala, because his father rarely called. So at first, he worried that he had done something wrong. Nonetheless, he wouldn't dream of ignoring a call from his father, so he answered on the third ring.

"Father? What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume something is wrong?" Tywin asked flatly.

"Well, you don't usually call unless something is amiss," Jaime said.

There was a short pause as if his father was thinking of arguing the point, but instead he sighed. "Someone tried to shoot Myrcella last night."

Jaime almost dropped his phone. "Someone... what? Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Tywin said. "Her bodyguard saw to that."

The girl with the steady gaze. Jaime remembered her. Icy as she had been at the moment, he was grateful that the girl had protected his niece. "Good. Thank the gods for that. Do we know who did it?"

"Yes. The man is already dead," Tywin said. "The bodyguard shot him and got Myrcella home. I'm inclined to believe someone paid him to make the attempt. He had little other motive."

"Who would pay him to kill Myrcella of all people? The girl has never done a wrong thing in her life," Jaime said.

"Somehow, I doubt this is about Myrcella herself," Tywin said. "You said you have a good deal of unsolved cases in your apartment. Do you have Arya Stark's case file?"

"Arya... yes, I do," Jaime said. "Do you think they're connected?"

"They were both young girls from wealthy families," Tywin said. "Send me the file."

Jaime was almost bewildered that his father was asking him for help. Even more astonishing, it was help that Jaime could provide. He hurried over to the table and grabbed the file, scanning the pages into his computer. "All right, I'm emailing them in just a minute. They should come through... now."

There was silence as his father checked. "No picture of the body?" he asked.

"No," Jaime said. "I worked on her missing person case, but I wasn't part of the team that found her dead. So I didn't have it with me. I'm sure there is a file at the station."

"Of course," Tywin said. "I don't suppose you remember _who _worked on that case."

"Almost everyone worked on the case at one point or another," Jaime said.

"Who filed the final report then?"

"I'd have to check at the station," Jaime said. "Problem is, I don't work there anymore, and Selmy has been insistent about me not trying to interfere with cases."

"Do you have any contacts at the station?" Tywin asked.

Jaime's brow furrowed as he immediately thought of Brienne. Selmy had told most of the others not to involve him but she... she had met with him the other day at least. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. I'll call you back."

He hung up and dialed Brienne. She picked up on the second ring.

"Lannister. Find any other leads?" she asked.

"Not quite," Jaime said. "How did that last one go? Helpful?"

"I'm making progress on the investigation, yes," she said. "So why are you calling?"

"I need a quick favor," Jaime said. "Can you go look at the Arya Stark file for me?"

Brienne exhaled. "Jaime, you know I can't give you any information about our investigations."

"I'm not asking for information about the investigation," he said. "I just want to know who filed it. Nothing more than that."

"Why? So you can ask them yourself?"

"No. Maybe. Listen, please check. Just the name of the one who filed the report. That's all I'm asking."

She was quiet for a long while. Then she sighed. "All right. Fine. You gave me the lead. I'll give you this and we call it even."

Jaime tried not to sigh with relief over the phone. He waited patiently for her to make it to the file room and he listened as he heard her shuffling with papers. After a long time, she spoke. "That's strange..."

"What?" Jaime asked.

"When was her body found? Two years ago, right?"

"Yes, two years ago. Middle of autumn, I think," Jaime said.

"Well... I can't find anything on her," Brienne said. "Not anywhere in fall of two years ago."

"Check three years ago," Jaime said. "That's when she first went missing. They might have filed it wrong."

Brienne checked. But again, no luck. "I really can't find it. Perhaps someone misplaced it."

"That's one hell of a file to misplace," he said.

"It is," Brienne said. "Sorry I couldn't help."

"No, no, that's fine," Jaime said. "I'll get another favor from you later. Thank you."

He hung up the phone and called his father again. "So... strange turn of events. There is no file on Arya Stark at the station. Not her missing person file and not her death report. Nothing."

"That doesn't surprise me," Tywin said. "They wouldn't want anyone to look at the body for too long."

"What are you talking about, Father?"

"The body they found," Tywin said. "It wasn't Arya Stark."

Jaime's brow furrowed. "You sound sure of that. Why?"

"Because I met her this morning," Tywin said. "More specifically, I met her a few weeks ago when Cersei hired Beth Rivers to work for us."

Jaime almost dropped his phone _again_ as he tried to wrap his mind around the words. "She's... alive? Really? And Beth Rivers..." He shook his head. "_That _was Arya Stark?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "So this isn't just a case of a missing file. Someone pulled it intentionally because someone wanted the world to think Arya was dead. I'm not sure why yet. But I'll need your help on figuring it out."

Help. His father needed _his _help. This really was a strange day. "I'll do what I can," he said at last.

"Good," he said. "Come to the house this evening then. Bring the file with you. And tell _no one _about this. Understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

And with that, his father ended the conversation, leaving Jaime standing in the middle of the room with more questions than answers.

The Arya Stark case had been the focus of the department for a whole year, even as they worked on other cases. Girls like her didn't just go missing with no one noticing them. Jaime knew after a few months of no luck that she must be dead. So when he heard they found her body in the river... he hadn't questioned it. He wasn't on the team searching for her murderer. He didn't even remember who was. He had been swamped with cases of his own at the time.

But if someone faked the results or lied in the report... Worse if someone had paid a corrupt cop to pull the report... then there was something much more sinister going on with Arya Stark. And Myrcella's near death the previous night might just be the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The intrigue grows and Robb accepts Arya back despite his complex feelings. Also, for those of you wanting more Arya and Jon, they will be getting their own conversation soon and Jon will be getting a POV soon as well. Next chapter is gonna be Sansa focused though, so Sansa fans can look forward to that. Until the next chapter, review subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	18. Seasons of My Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it. That's why I'm late today. I slept in lol. But here's the chapter, entirely in Sansa's perspective. I really enjoyed writing her in the modern day, so there are a lot of fun interactions. Enjoy!

Sansa woke up in a room that was not her own, on a couch, feeling as if her head was trying to personally murder her. That much wasn't a surprise. After Joffrey had left the party, she had way more to drink than she should have. At one point, she blacked out. So where was she now?

Slowly she sat up and looked around. She was still at the penthouse it seemed and she wasn't the only one. Tons of other party goers were passed out around the room and some were still nursing drinks after staying up all night.

Sansa quickly checked her clothes to make sure nothing had happened. They were all in place and didn't appear ruffled at all. She winced when she moved too fast, pressing her palm against her head. _Fuck._

"Here."

Sansa opened her eyes to see a drink in front of her. And it took her a moment to register Tyrion Lannister holding onto it.

"Hangover cure," he said. "It seems you need one."

Sansa eyed him cautiously for a moment before she accepted, drinking. She nearly spat it out. "Gods, it's disgusting."

"Cayenne pepper and lemon juice. Not the best flavor combination," he said. "But, it'll do the trick."

Sansa nodded, choking the rest down, her face twisting as she did. He took the glass back from her when she held it out. "Thank you."

"It was a simple fix."

"No... not for that," Sansa said. "For making Joffrey leave last night. I know he's your nephew, so I thought I might have to leave."

"Oh, believe me Miss Stark," Tyrion said. "I far prefer your company to Joffrey's company. I prefer nearly anyone's company to Joffrey's. Except perhaps my father's. I'll have to think about that." He shrugged. "I should thank you for giving me an excellent excuse to throw him out."

Sansa's mouth twitched. "Still. Most people don't like to stand up to him because he's a Baratheon and a Lannister."

"Yes, yes. He's half a Lannister. But as a full Lannister, I trump him," Tyrion said. "Really, Sansa. Think no more of it."

"You don't share your family fixation with debts?" Sansa ventured. She knew that his father gave her brother and mother a difficult time. And his sister was no different.

"I do," Tyrion said. "But I don't consider this a debt."

She nodded once, satisfied, but the motion sent another bolt of pain through her skull. "I... don't remember everything that happened toward the end of the night. It wasn't anything... bad, was it?"

"No, no," Tyrion said. "You were no worse off than most of those who are still here. And if you worry about anyone taking advantage of you, don't." He indicated a man standing by the wall. "That's my bodyguard Bronn. I always bring him to these to make sure that nothing terrible happens. You passed out on this couch at 5:00 AM and no one disturbed you."

Sansa let out a relieved breath, pushing her red hair back over her shoulder. "Again. Thank you. Most parties aren't so considerate."

"Well, this party is for charity, my dear. It has to be considerate," Tyrion said.

Sansa gave him a look. "Charity?"

"Yes," Tyrion said, sipping from a flask. Despite having drunk consistently throughout the night, he did not seem hungover. Perhaps because he was still drunk. "I wanted to offer an alternative to that fucking gala but I'm not going to steal money from charity. I'll donate the proceeds somewhere useful."

"I didn't hear anything about that," Sansa said.

"Because I didn't tell the press," Tyrion said. "And I find that young people give away their money more freely at bars than charity galas so here we are. I wouldn't have wanted to dissuade them from generosity."

Sansa tilted her head to the side, observing him. She had heard stories about the younger Lannister from her friends. Most of them were about the parties he hosted and the sheer amount of alcohol he could drink for someone of his size. Lecherous was another word to describe him. The press had seen him with tons of different women.

He was popular amongst people Sansa's age because he was a rebel of sorts, fighting against his sinister father. Anyone who did not fear Tywin Lannister was worthy of respect. So she had to admit, donating to charity seemed out of character for him. Based on the stories, at least.

Maybe some stories were wrong.

"Anyhow, promise not to tell my secret to the press," Tyrion said. "I wouldn't want to get credit for any of this."

"I promise," Sansa said softly.

"Good," Tyrion said. "Now, do you have a car? I can call you a ride if you need one. Your mother must be worried."

"I texted her last night and told her I would stay with friends and come home in the morning," Sansa said. "Which was... technically a lie."

"We're not friends?" Tyrion said with an air of mock offense.

Sansa laughed once. "I'm not sure Starks are supposed to be friends with Lannisters, sir."

"Oh, gods, please don't call me sir," he said. "You make me feel old."

"Aren't you?"

"I am _twenty-nine. _I'm not old for another year thank you very much," Tyrion straightened his collar. "Well, whether or not your mother is worried, I can still offer you a car."

Sansa thought about it. But then again, she didn't really want her family to know that she had been out at a Lannister's party last night. Theon had seen her there, and she had sworn him to secrecy. Her mother wouldn't approve. Her brother wouldn't approve. And sometimes Sansa wasn't sure which was worse.

She shook her head at last. "No, thank you. I think I'm too nauseous for a car." She stood, grabbing her purse and quickly checking to make sure nothing was missing. "I think I'll walk for a bit. I'll take the bus when I'm ready to go home. I have enough for a fair."

"Suit yourself," Tyrion said. "I hope to see you again, Miss Stark. I promise, any party you frequent will be free of Joffrey."

"That's kind of you," Sansa smiled. "Thank you again, sir. Or... sorry. Tyrion."

"Any time, Sansa," Tyrion said, raising his flask.

* * *

It was a pleasant morning and warm enough that Sansa could enjoy a walk. Her head still throbbed but the fresh air made it more tolerable. Walking like this always helped her to clear her head after a long night.

She used to walk for hours after her father died and her sister disappeared. She would leave home and just walk for as far as her feet would take her and she would barely pay attention to where she was going. Sometimes she ended up in neighborhoods she had never seen before or inside coffee shops she hadn't known existed. She had lived in King's Landing all of her life and yet there were so many places she had never seen. People she never would have noticed.

Not that it was all good. Often on her walks, men called at her from across the street, hollering many crude things about her body. But Sansa was used to that from high school. And anyway, following the deaths of her family... it was harder for those things to bother her.

That had been a problem, she supposed. She put up with a lot of pain and mistreatment because it seemed less bad compared to what she had already lost. She put up with Joffrey because he was terrible but... being alone seemed worse.

She found herself standing on a corner across the street from an ice cream parlor. This part of town she knew well. In fact, her father used to take them for ice cream here. It was close enough to her old school that she and her siblings could walk there afterwards.

She remembered that after her first break up with Joffrey, when she was sixteen, she had gone there with Arya and Bran. Back then, she and Arya clashed often, but that day Arya was so proud of her for finally dumping Joffrey's "worthless ass".

"_I knew you'd come around," _she said. _"I always knew. And now you're free of him. This is a celebration!"_

Breaking up with him the first time had been a trial for Sansa. He had cheated on her but he later spread rumors _she _had been the one sleeping around. Half the school believed them. Half the school didn't. It was a wretched time, but sitting in the ice cream parlor with her siblings she had forgotten it all for a little while.

That was two months before the accident and three months before Arya disappeared. In such a short time, Bran was in a wheelchair and his sweet smile vanished. So did Arya.

The ice cream parlor was full of ghosts now. And even thinking about it made Sansa nauseous again.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone to distract herself but found it dead. Shit. She should have borrowed a charger from Tyrion before she left his apartment. For all she knew, her mother had called her and was worried sick about where she was. And she hated to worry her mother like that, especially since she had already lost Arya.

A honk to her left startled her, and she looked to the side to see a familiar face leaning out the car window. Petyr Baelish, her mother's old friend.

"Sansa," he said. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

"Yes." Sansa wandered over to his window. "I was... out with friends last night."

He raised an eyebrow. "Out with friends at Tyrion Lannister's party?"

Heat rose to Sansa's cheeks. "No."

He grinned. "No need to lie to me, child. It seemed everyone was there last night. But don't worry. I won't tell your mother."

"Thank you," Sansa murmured. "I just... you know how my family is with Lannisters."

"Oh, I know," Baelish said. "I can hardly blame them. Personally, I'm glad your mother and brother put up a good fight against them. It helps my business if the Lannisters don't have a monopoly on luxury technology."

"Right. Your startup." Sansa shifted from foot to foot. "How is that?"

"Doing well," Baelish said. A car behind him honked, and he laughed. "Get in. I'll give you a ride home if you'd like."

Sansa sighed. She didn't really want to go home yet, but with her phone dead, she knew she shouldn't stay out much longer. "Do you have a charger?"

* * *

"King's Landing isn't exactly the environment for startups," Baelish told her once she was sitting in the car, waiting for her phone to charge. "Not with these big names in the industry. I never would've gotten off the ground without help."

"Help from whom?" Sansa asked.

"My investors. I had a few ideal contacts from Baratheon Incorporated from when I worked there. I was the numbers guy for Robert Baratheon, if you remember," Baelish said. "And then, your mother gave me some help. She's a brilliant woman, you know. Shame that she never got to use that degree of hers until now."

"She was busy raising us," Sansa said.

"Yes. Did a fine job of it too," Baelish said. "And now she does a fine job helping your brother. I hear she's gone toe to toe with Tywin Lannister himself on occasion. That takes guts."

Yes, it did. Sansa had only met him in passing, but he seemed like a frightening man. He was not from the north, but his gaze was like pure ice. Her mother had always been tough as nails though, so she was not surprised that she could match him.

"I didn't get along with your father," Baelish admitted. "But I have to admit, King's Landing would be doomed if he hadn't been around to oppose Tywin. The lion would own everything in town. I'm grateful to your father for that at least."

"Why didn't you get along with my father?" Sansa asked.

"Our personalities clashed," Baelish said. "There are some people you just can't like... even if you respect them. You'll understand when you're older."

Sansa nodded once, looking down at her phone again. It was taking forever to turn back on and it made her nervous.

"And what about you, sweet girl?" Baelish asked. "How have you been?"

"All right," Sansa said.

"It surprised me when you didn't go to university this year," Baelish said. "You always had good grades."

"It's not the grades," Sansa said. "I... needed a break." And anyway, her grades in her last few semesters of school had been wretched. Losing her father and sister had made it too hard to concentrate on such things so she dropped from a model student to barely passing. Perhaps she could still get into university just fine but... she was afraid if she tried she would fail. And failing her family—disappointing them yet again—she couldn't handle that.

"I understand that. You want to live for a bit before moving on," Baelish said. "Did you ever think about joining the business with your family?"

"I've thought about it, yes," Sansa said. "I'm not sure if I would be any good."

"Nonsense. You're a beautiful, charming girl."

"What does that have to do with the business?"

"_Everything, _Sansa," Baelish flashed her a smile. "So much about gaining allies is about getting them to like you. And you won't have any problem with that."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, giving it a good-natured squeeze. But she was hyper aware of his thumb circling her bare skin, lingering for just a little too long.

Everyone knew that Petyr Baelish was in love with her mother from a young age, but he had given up hope of being with her a long time ago. After her father died, Baelish was around the house an awful lot and Sansa had wondered, for a bit, if her mother might seek comfort in him to fill the gap her father had left behind. But her mother was too strong for that, and even with father dead, she did not have feelings for Baelish. He seemed to have accepted that gracefully enough, though she was not present for any of their private discussions.

Sansa looked like her mother when she was young. Everyone said so. They said she had the Tully looks. The Tully beauty. Baelish himself had offered her that compliment once or twice. She was not naïve. She knew that when he looked at her, he must see her mother young again. So the subtle movement of his thumb across her skin was no surprise to her. But still it made her grip tighten on her phone.

Her phone turned on again, and she used the excuse to shift away from him as she raised it closer. "Finally. Thank the gods."

Sure enough, there were multiple missed texts and calls from her mother. And not just from her mother. Robb too.

"Dammit," Sansa muttered. "I told them I was staying overnight with friends. Did they forget?"

"I'm sure they didn't forget," Baelish said. "But after what happened to your sister, you can't blame your mother for being a little paranoid."

No. She couldn't. She quickly started tapping out a response. "How far are we from my house?"

"Fifteen minutes. Not far," he said.

"Good." She sent the text.

_S: Sorry, my phone was dead. Stayed over with friends. Home in fifteen._

Still, the content of the text messages worried her. Telling her to come home 'as soon as possible'? What if something else had happened? It was that time of the year after all. The time of year when something terrible happened to people she loved.

But she just could not bear another tragic autumn.

* * *

Baelish pulled up in front of her house and insisted on walking Sansa to the door though she insisted that he didn't have to. Baelish laughed her off and said that he wanted to say hello to her mother, anyway.

When her mother answered the door, she was relieved to see Sansa, but her expression tensed a bit when she saw Baelish. "Petyr. It's... good to see you. Did you give Sansa a ride home?"

"I ran into her while she was going on a walk," Baelish said. "Her phone was dead, so I offered her a lift home. Not to worry, Cat. Your daughter was in good hands."

"I'm sure she was. Thank you for that," she said. "I'd offer you a drink but things are hectic today, so..."

"No worries. I'll take a rain check on the drink," Petyr stepped off the porch. He gave Sansa a smile. "Until next time."

Sansa nodded once, forcing a smile in return. And when his car had disappeared down the drive, she turned to her mother.

"I'm sorry. I didn't text earlier. My phone died and-"

"It's all right," Catelyn said, gesturing quickly for Sansa to come inside. She seemed almost nervous as she closed the door and locked it behind her. "I wasn't texting because I was worried. Well... I _was _worried but, it was something else."

Sansa felt an icy fear go through her. "Did something happen? Did someone get hurt?"

"No," Catelyn said. "That is... something happened, but it's a good thing. Mostly." Her mother rested a hand on her upper arm. "Your sister. She came home."

Sansa blinked, not entirely processing what her mother was saying. "What do you mean... came home? Arya is dead."

"No. She's not," Catelyn said. "She's upstairs right now. In Bran's room, I think. She came back this morning. Or at least... Tywin Lannister brought her back this morning."

Her mother's explanation cleared up _nothing_. "I don't understand."

Her mother told her the short version of the story. That Arya had been missing for three years and they didn't know where. But it was likely that she had not stayed away of her own volition. They had to be careful with her. Delicate. And they were cooperating with the Lannisters to figure out what was going on. Sansa was not to tell a soul outside of their family that Arya was alive. Sansa understood all the words in theory, but her heart and mind were a swirl of confusion. She was not entirely convinced that she was awake. Maybe she was still on Tyrion Lannister's couch, dreaming.

But even her dreams were not as strange as this.

"I know it's a lot," her mother said. "I haven't figured it all out myself. Just... go up and see your sister. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

Sansa nodded slowly. "Right... all right."

She turned and forced herself to move up the stairs. As if this was real and not a dream. As if this was actually happening. She took one step after another, up the stairs, and down the upper west hall.

There was music coming from Bran's room. Rickon's guitar. He had gotten good with it over the past two years. His therapist said it was a good way to channel his energy to keep him from getting into so many fights and it had worked, for the most part.

"I can play lots of songs," he called out. "Give me anything."

"Play 'Hands of Gold'," Jon said.

"That's overplayed, Jon," Bran said. "Something else."

"Season of my love?" a voice suggested. And Sansa recognized it immediately. That was Arya. Her Arya. She paused mid-step because the voice hit her like a punch to the stomach.

"Really?" Bran asked. "You always hated that song."

He was right. She had. Sansa, on the other hand, had loved it and had played it on loop in her room for nearly a week. At one point, Arya had burst into her room and ran for her iPod.

"_No more. Sansa. I'm losing my mind. Something ELSE."_

Sansa had fought her over it then, but Arya got her wish a few days later. That was the song Sansa had been listening to the night of the crash. After their father died... the melody lost its appeal.

"I haven't listened to much new music," Arya said. "It's the only one I could think of. Can you play it?"

"Sure," Rickon said. "That's an easy one."

The gentle music filtered out into the hall like a lullaby, a familiar sound from a distant time when things were better.

"_I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. Seasons of my love."_

That was Robb's voice. He had always had a lovely voice, but he didn't keep up with singing once he took over the business. He didn't have much time for anything so frivolous then.

"_I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair. Seasons of my love."_

There was laughing from inside the room as Sansa finally found herself at the door, peering through the little crack. Sure enough, all her siblings crowded inside. All of them. Including Arya, who sat next to Rickon on the bed, watching him pluck away at the strings, a soft smile on her face.

"_I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair. Seasons of my love."_

"That's beautiful, both of you," Jon said. "You should quit the business and start a band."

"I'll play the drums," Arya said.

"_Quiet,_" Rickon said. "The song isn't finished yet."

"_I loved a maid as spry as spring with blossoms in her hair. Seasons of my-"_

The singing stopped as Robb looked up and noticed Sansa standing in the door. She swallowed hard and eased it open, stepping into the doorway. Arya stiffened on the bed when she saw her, her eyes going wide.

"Sansa."

"Hey," Sansa said. "I heard you... came home."

"Yeah," Arya said, slipping off the bed and standing in the center of the room. "Yeah, I'm home."

She was nervous. She was waiting for Sansa to shout at her or ask her why. And Sansa wanted to do exactly that. She wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Demand an explanation. She might have done exactly that if her mother had not prepared her. And looking at Arya now, her anger seemed to die.

It was how she was carrying herself. Slumped shoulders, nervous eyes, hands stuffed in her pockets. Arya never used to look like that. She entered a room proudly and confidently. She never apologized, even when she was wrong. She was small, but she filled the room. Now she barely seemed to fill her own body.

"I'm glad," Sansa said, her voice cracking. "Welcome home." She held out her arms and Arya rushed into them. Sansa wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Wow," Rickon said. "Look at this. It's the six of us again." Sansa opened her eyes to look at him over Arya's shoulder and saw that her brother was crying. "I never thought it would be the six of us..."

No. None of them had. Once Arya disappeared, they had all resigned themselves to being five instead of six. But standing in the room with all of her siblings, Sansa could not help but feel a surge of joy.

It had been a long time since she had felt anything like that.

* * *

A little while later, Arya sat on Sansa's bed, awkwardly rubbing her hands together as Sansa changed clothes from the previous night to look more presentable. She was brushing her hair when Arya spoke up.

"I saw you at Tyrion's party last night."

Sansa's brow furrowed, and she studied her sister's reflection in the mirror. "You were there?"

"I don't know if mother explained it to you but, yes. I was posing as Myrcella Baratheon's bodyguard," Arya said. "You saw me for half a second, but then you got distracted."

Sansa's eyes widened. "I did see you. For a minute in the dark, I recognized you but I thought it must be a mistake." She glanced over her shoulder. "You didn't tell anyone I was at that party, did you?"

"Why? Would that be a bad thing?" Arya asked.

"It's a party held by a Lannister," Sansa said.

"Well, I'm on the Lannister payroll so I can't exactly judge," Arya pointed out.

Sansa laughed once at that. "How did you manage that?"

"Cersei liked me," Arya said.

"Impossible. Cersei Lannister doesn't like anyone." She turned to face Arya, pointing at her with her brush. "And she especially didn't like you after you broke her son's nose."

"He deserved it," Arya point out.

"I'm not saying he didn't," Sansa said, returning to detangling her hair. It really was a mess. She wondered if she should cut it soon, just so she had less hair to deal with.

"I... saw what happened with Joffrey last night," Arya ventured cautiously.

Sansa kept her face impassive. "Did you?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Myrcella said you dated again, a few years ago."

"Yeah. We did," Sansa turned around to face her, leaning against her vanity. "I know what you'll say Arya. That I should have known better. That he's trash and I'm better than that and I was being stupid. But really... I don't think you have any right to lecture me. We all had our own terrible ways of dealing with Dad's death. I dated Joffrey, and you disappeared so..."

"I wasn't going to say that," Arya murmured, looking down at her hands. "I just... I'm sorry. I heard you didn't start until after you thought I was dead so I felt responsible for that. I'm sorry."

Sansa blinked. She wasn't used to her sister apologizing, especially not with such sincerity. But there was that smallness again. Like her soul could not even fill her small frame. She had apparently been passing as a professional and strong-willed body guard for the past month and Sansa found it difficult to see how. How could she pass as Beth Rivers when she could barely pull off Arya Stark?

"Don't be sorry," Sansa said. "I made my own choices. I'll live with them. You don't have to take responsibility."

Arya nodded once, biting her lip. Sansa went over to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm just glad you're back. I really am," she said. "I haven't even processed it yet because... well, I think it must be a dream but... you feel real."

"I am real," Arya said. "I am."

"Good," Sansa said. "Then don't leave again."

There was a long silence before Arya replied. "I'll try."

It wasn't a strong promise, but Sansa tried not to dwell on that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complicated reunion between the two sisters with a complicated relationship. Stark angst galore! Next time we'll get an individual convo between Arya and Jon, but we're coming shortly to the end of the Stark angst reunion chapters. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	19. Distrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, and we're back! Happy Monday everyone. Hope you guys had a good Thanksgiving break if you celebrate that kind of thing. And if not, hope you had a good weekend. Today, as promised, we get an Arya and Jon interaction as well as a Jon POV later in the chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

It was so strange for Arya to be amongst her family again, and it would have been a dream come true if not for the three years spent away, knocking around in the back of her mind.

She had spun a lie for Tywin to buy her time, and he had bought it for now, but in the process, she had become Arya Stark again. A girl who had a family. A girl who had a name. And that was _not _who she was supposed to be.

The deal was very clear. She would train with the Faceless Men. They would give her the skills she needed to take her vengeance; they would lead her to the one who killed her father. And in return, she would give up Arya Stark forever and become no one—just a cog in their machine.

She supposed she hadn't _breached _the deal. Her lie had kept her where she needed to be—a bodyguard for Myrcella Baratheon. And she said she wouldn't give up her name truly until after she had her vengeance. They hadn't _forbid _her from going back to her family until that point but… they wouldn't be happy about it.

And she would have to leave them, eventually. Coming back into their lives now and giving them this miracle felt oh so cruel. It wouldn't last. Arya knew it wouldn't last. The Faceless Men wouldn't let her slip away now after three years of investment, and she could not give up on finding her father's killer. That was what _all _of this pain was for. Avenge her father. Protect her mother and siblings.

She was furious at Tywin Lannister for making her go back home, but she was more furious at herself for how she had hurt her family and how she would hurt them a second time.

Still, she tried to enjoy the time while she could. She listened to Rickon play his guitar; she sat with Bran while he cataloged the newest gossip about their old classmates, which had popped up after Tyrion's party. She showed Sansa how she disguised her face and felt a small sense of pride when Sansa was impressed with her use of makeup. She sat outside in the yard with Jon, watching the dogs chase each other back and forth. There were only four of them in the yard. Four instead of six. She had noticed shortly after she returned, but bit back the questions at her tongue until she was alone with Jon.

"I was afraid to ask about Nymeria," she murmured. "But... I don't suppose you can tell me what happened?"

"She ran away," Jon said. "Just like you. We haven't seen her since."

A pang went through Arya's heart but she shoved it down. She had no right to be upset. She abandoned Nymeria first. It was her fault.

"And Lady," Arya said. "She's missing too."

"Yeah. We had to put her down last fall," Jon said. "Terrible fucking time for Sansa. Autumn in general... it's just the worst for us Starks."

"That's partially my fault," Arya said. "So four dogs left. They seem to be doing well. I can't believe Ghost is the biggest of the bunch."

"Me neither. He was so small when we found him," Jon said. "Do you remember your mother's face when your father brought them all home?"

"Yes," Arya grinned. "And I remember the arguments. '_Six_, Ned. You brought home _six_'." She imitated her mother's exasperated voice and Jon laughed.

"That was Bran and I's fault," Jon said. "He wanted one so badly and then I pointed out that there were six. One of each of us. It was fate." He laughed. "Gods, I didn't think he'd actually go for it. But then Robb said it would be good to teach us 'responsibility' and he was lost."

"Father was always great at negotiating," Arya said. "Except with us."

"Yeah. Different person at work and at home," Jon said. Ghost brought him a ball, and he chucked it across the yard. All four off the dogs raced after each other, competing for the same toy.

"How's Robb dealing with the business?" Arya asked. "I know it must be hard on him."

"You should ask him yourself," Jon said.

"He's angry at me," Arya said. "For staying away."

"He's not angry at you," Jon said.

"Yes. He is. Even if he doesn't want to be," Arya said. "Anyway, if I asked him he would just say 'fine' because he's the big brother and he would never show weakness like that."

"Fair," Jon said. Greywind returned the ball to him, having won the battle with his siblings. Jon took it and tossed it away again. "He handles it well enough. Aunt Cat helps him and keeps the board off his ass. In the beginning, they tested him like crazy, trying to see if he could cut it. But he pulled through. He still puts up a valiant fight against Tywin Lannister. And the Tyrells and the Baratheons and all the rest."

"I thought the Baratheons were our partners," Arya said.

"Sort of," Jon said. "Stannis works with us, but it's not the same as when Robert was in charge. He's a different man. Hard to bargain with. And then there's a lot of turmoil in the Baratheon company thinking about the future. When Stannis retires, does Renly get the company or does it go to that little shit Joffrey? You can guess which option Robb prefers."

Arya nodded sagely. "Yes, he and Joffrey always seemed very close."

Jon grinned. "Anyway, if Joffrey gets the company, the Lannisters will absorb the Baratheon assets in a heartbeat. And then everyone who doesn't kiss the Lannisters' ass is fucked. That's what Robb says, anyway. I'm not an expert at this kind of thing."

It did seem like trouble, though Arya knew she wouldn't be around to witness it. Not as Arya Stark anyway.

"I hear you're a cop now," Arya said. "That job fits you. You'll be one of the good ones. Father would be proud."

"I hope so," Jon said. "Not everyone at the station is so sure. Allistair Thorne has it out for me. Says they don't have time for rich boys playing hero. But I'm not playing at anything."

"He'll see that," Arya said. "You just have to prove it to him."

She watched Shaggy Dog tackle Ghost to the ground, and they rolled down the hill. The ball had been forgotten. She felt an ache in her chest as she thought of Nymeria again but she pushed that down. The sun would set soon and she would have to go back to Beth Rivers. Back to work.

"It's so strange," Jon said. "Having you here to talk to. I... I used to talk to you sometimes these past three years. Not like a crazy person just... occasionally." He glanced at her. "And now you're talking back. That's nice."

Arya let out a long sigh, leaning against his shoulder. "Yeah. It is."

"I missed you," he said. "More than you can imagine. Uncle Ned dying was hard but...when I heard they found you under that bridge…" His voice cracked and he trailed off. Guilt spiked through Arya all over again.

"I'm sorry," Arya murmured. "I really am. I wish...I wish I could have come back, but…" she trailed off, not knowing how to finish that statement.

_But I got involved with dangerous people._

_But I gave up my name to protect you. All of you._

"You don't have to explain," Jon said. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

The door behind them opened and Robb's voice called out from inside. "Hey. Dinner's ready."

Dinner. Her first dinner with her family in such a long time. She was used to scarfing down tasteless food in the House of Black and White. She was used to going with no food at all as part of her endurance training.

Sharing a meal was a small thing, but it truly made her happy. Even though she knew it was temporary. Just a temporary bit of heaven before she gave away her name.

* * *

After dinner, the knock at the door signaled the end of Arya's time at home. She had already restored her red curls and her contacts and the rest of her makeup that turned her into Beth Rivers, and she exhaled, letting herself slip back into her skin. Just in case someone saw her on the drive between manors.

"That's weird how you can do that," Rickon commented. "You almost don't look like yourself."

When Robb opened the door, Arya was surprised to see Sandor Clegane standing there, looking just a shade annoyed.

"And who are you?" Robb asked.

"Clegane. Head of Lannister security." He nodded in Arya's direction. "I hired her. Course I thought her name was Beth Rivers then."

"My apologies, sir," Arya responded in the tone of Beth.

"Mr. Lannister didn't say that he was telling you," her mother said suspiciously.

"Well, I have to be in the know about most security breaches, ma'am. You understand," Clegane said. "Don't worry. Wouldn't dream of spreading the news. I like my job with the Lannisters. It pays well. I won't jeopardize that."

Her mother seemed to accept that. They all hesitated in the foyer, including Arya, who was reluctant to leave.

Clegane sighed. "All right, I'm waiting in the car. Come out when you're done with your goodbyes."

Arya gave him a grateful smile before he closed the door. He was a rough man, but at least not a complete asshole.

"Well..." Catelyn turned to look at her. "You know how to contact us. If you need anything at all-"

"I'll let you know," Arya nodded once.

"Good," she said. "Don't be too reckless. There's something dangerous happen here, and I don't want to get hurt."

"I won't," Arya said.

"If Tywin Lannister tries anything," Robb said. "You'll tell me."

Arya gave him a little smile. Her brother was angry at her, perhaps, but still protective, and she appreciated that from him. "I promise. I can handle him, don't worry."

"Well, you're tougher than most," Robb said. "You have a chance at it, I suppose."

Arya nodded once, feeling a lump form in her throat. Then her older brother sighed and held open his arms. She moved forward, embracing him tightly. Her other siblings followed soon after, and her mother, embracing her one after the other, and Arya tried to relish the feeling of it. It was temporary. Temporary. All of it was temporary.

And then, at last, when she knew she could keep Clegane waiting no longer, she said her last goodbye and stepped out onto the porch. She moved quickly toward the car, keeping her head low to reduce her chance of being seen. Then she slipped into the passenger side seat.

"Finally," Clegane said. "Took you long enough."

"I haven't seen them in three years," Arya said.

"Kinda sounds like that's on you, _Rivers_," he gave her a look as he pulled out of the driveway. "Or am I calling you Stark now?"

"Call me what you like," Arya said. "Except in public. Everyone needs to keep thinking I'm Beth Rivers. That's what your boss wants, anyway."

"Aye. He does," Clegane said. "I am curious. Where did you train?"

Arya's heart gave a nervous jump in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"Beth said she trained with her uncle, but now I know that's not the truth," Clegane said. "You must have trained somewhere to get skills like that. No one gets that good as a natural. So where'd you train?"

"I had a few teachers," Arya said. "Here and there. Different places. Does it matter?"

"Not really," Clegane said. "It's just that you couldn't have been training around here, could you?"

"What makes you say that?" Arya asked.

"Cause your face was plastered on every fucking newspaper for months," Clegane said. "If you tried to find a teacher, they would pick you out in a second and turn you in. The reward money would be too good to pass up. You must have gone somewhere they weren't flashing your face around. So where?"

Arya shrugged. "I don't think I owe you an explanation."

"Uh huh," Clegane said. "Beth Rivers was more polite."

She glanced at him, a smirk creeping across her face. "_Sir_."

He laughed once, shaking his head. "Ah, you're something. But you know, Lannister is gonna figure you out, eventually. That's why he's keeping you on his payroll. It's not just an interest in who killed your old man. He wants to know how the hell you got to this point."

"I've already told him," Arya said simply.

"Sure you did," Clegane said. "You know much about Tywin Lannister during the wars, girl? The ones overseas. You learned about them in school, didn't you?"

"Yes, we learned about them," Arya said. "Broadly. He wasn't mentioned."

"No, he wouldn't be," Clegane said. "But if you knew, I don't think you would be so confident in your ability to keep a secret."

Arya shifted in her seat. Keeping secrets was what the Faceless Men had taught her. It was a major part of her training. But Tywin was no fool, and his time in the war and in the business world made him observant. She would have to keep on guard with him. Otherwise, he might find out about the Faceless Men, and she knew that Jaqen would not tolerate that.

And she would not face his wrath again.

* * *

Arya heard voices coming from Tywin's office when she approached. Someone else was meeting with him and she thought she recognized the voice. Yes. She met him the previous night. Jaime Lannister. Tywin's eldest son and one of her other suspects. She exhaled and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Tywin's voice commanded and she obeyed, slipping inside. "Ah. Miss Stark. You're back."

Arya nodded once, aware of Jaime studying her carefully. "Yes, sir."

"Pleasure to meet you again, Miss Stark," Jaime said. "I suppose we only half met last night, didn't we? You didn't give me your real name."

"I wouldn't take it personally," Arya said. "I wasn't giving anyone my real name."

"Yes, so I've heard," Jaime said. "Very funny to find you alive though. At the station we worked day and night to find you for a year and then you turned up dead. I sort of thought we would never meet at all."

"And yet here she is," Tywin said. "And Jaime has a piece of news you might find interesting, Miss Stark. It concerns your case file."

"What about it?" Arya asked.

"It's missing," Jaime said. "I don't work for the police anymore but I have a... friend there. I had her check for the file and it's not there. The only thing I have of it is this." He held up the file. "Some copies I made of the missing person report a few years ago."

"What does that mean?" Arya asked.

"It could mean one of two things," Tywin said. "Either some idiotic officer misplaced the files for one of the most major cases in the past decade... or someone intentionally removed the file to make sure no one could read too deeply into the case, or study the body for too long and find out it didn't belong to you."

"So... the latter then," Arya said. Her mind jumped immediately to the Faceless Men. It would not have been difficult for one of them to slip in, take her file and leave. But then taking the file wouldbe too obvious. The Faceless Men hid truths in plain sight. Often they did not even cover up a crime. They just endeavored to make it all seem perfectly normal. Accidental. A missing file was suspicious and they wouldn't cause that kind of suspicion. "Do you think it's connected to whoever killed my father?"

"I'm assuming that for now," Tywin said.

"So we've decided that Ned Stark was killed then?" Jaime asked. "Really? Forgive me if this seems paranoid, Father."

_The very fact that you protest the possibility makes you a more likely suspect, _Arya thought. Not to mention he used to bea policeman. He could have removed the file himself. But then, he had brought a copy of the missing person's report. Arya hadn't gotten a read on him yet.

"I'd rather be paranoid than ignore a potentially dangerous situation," Tywin said. "If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong and Miss Stark can return to her family in peace knowing that it was a terrible accident. If not... then we can prevent any further casualties."

"There's an easy way to see if they're connected," Arya said.

Jaime glanced at her. "And what's that?"

"Look for my father's file," Arya said. "If they're connected, the culprit might have pulled that one too."

"She's right," Tywin said, looking to Jaime. "Can this friend of yours check for that file as well?"

"I'm not sure," Jaime said. "Selmy doesn't want me interfering and it could jeopardize her place there if she keeps feeding me information."

"She doesn't need to," Arya said. "My cousin Jon. He's a cop. He can check the file."

"That's right," Jaime said. "Jon Stark. He could check." He snapped his fingers. "And he could ask around to see who was on the case. It wouldn't be suspicious. You were like a sister to him. Who could blame the poor boy for wanting to know more about your death?"

"True enough," Tywin glanced at Arya. "Is your cousin a good liar?"

"Not... really," Arya said. "But it wouldn't be much of a lie, right? He is curious about what happened to me."

Tywin considered it for a minute. Then he nodded. "Get in contact with your cousin. Tell him to search for your father's file. If it's missing, I want him to figure out who wrote the reports. If it's the same person or two different people. Regardless, it's entirely likely that there are a few corrupt cops in the KLPD."

"I could have told you that," Jaime said. "There are always corrupt cops taking a cut off drug deals. Not sure how many of them would cover up murder though."

"Make a list of ones that might," Tywin said. "Just in case Jon Snow isn't able to turn up anything."

"I will," Jaime said.

"You're one of the few people who know that Arya Stark is not dead," Tywin continued. "Keep it that way. Tell no one unless you have my permission. Not even Cersei."

"Why?" Jaime asked. "Seems better if she knows who's really guarding her daughter."

"Yes, but once she knows she might not want me guarding her daughter," Arya pointed out.

"Why?"

"Do you remember your nephew coming home from school with a broken nose once a few years ago?"

"Ah. That was you." Jaime rubbed a hand over his stump. "All right, point taken. You can make the call on that, Father." He stood from his seat. "Frankly, I'm surprised that you even brought me in on this."

"Why?" Tywin asked. "You said last night your talents don't lay in business. But this, if I understand correctly, uses your talents just fine."

Jaime nodded once, almost nervously. Arya could not tell yet if that was a symptom of guilt or just because he was not used to being given any credit by his father. Tywin did not seem like a particularly warm man with his children—or with anyone for that matter.

Jaime looked to Arya. "Ah... when you get in contact with your brother, tell him if he needs backup that he should go to Brienne Tarth. She's one cop I can say for sure _isn't _involved in this, and since your brother is a rookie, he might need help."

"Tarth," Tywin repeated. "Why do I know that name?"

"I might have mentioned it in passing," Jaime said. "She was the officer with me when I lost my hand. Kept me from bleeding out before the ambulance got there. Good woman. Honest. A little too honest really. But at least that means she's trustworthy."

Arya wasn't sure whether or not to give Jon that advice. If Jaime was involved at all, he could be giving the name of a contact on the inside that could disrupt Jon in his search. But his recommendation seemed sincere. She nodded once. "All right. I'll tell him." She glanced down at the file in Jaime's hands. "May I see that?"

"Be my guest." Jaime held it out to her, and she paced over, snatching it from his hand. A sudden wave of nerves had washed over her the moment she thought of reading the report and yet she knew that she should.

_Arya Stark_

_Race: Northern Westerosi_

_Height: 153 cm_

_Weight: 115 lbs_

_Hair: Dark Brown_

_Eyes: Grey_

_Last seen Thursday, October 1_ _st_ _ 2015 at Lannister Corporation Headquarters by Tywin Lannister._

Arya glanced up briefly at the man in question who was studying her from across his desk. She was almost surprised that he had reported their last encounter at all. But then, she was just as surprised that he had been the one to discover her.

She turned her eyes back to the report. There were a few pictures of her in here, a few of which her mother must have given to the station. She had a hard time recognizing her own face. Her cheeks were fuller then, and her eyes seemed lighter. She looked much younger in those photos. There were a few snapshots of her on the day she left, caught by security cameras. What a stupid little girl she was then.

She snapped the folder shut and returned it to Jaime without looking at him. "Thank you."

"Anything notable?" Tywin asked.

"No," Arya said fighting to steady her voice. "I'm sure... I'm sure the death report will be more enlightening. I can't help but wonder what poor girl they killed in my place."

"Her body was brutalized if I remember the stories," Jaime said. "Face smashed in and unrecognizable. And then she was already half decomposed."

Arya shivered. _I condemned that girl to die. Whoever she was, she died for me._

"We won't speculate until we have the report," Tywin said. "Or the person who wrote it." He gave Arya a meaningful look. "Miss Stark. Your cousin?"

Arya nodded quickly, pulling out her phone to tap out a message to her brother giving him instructions. The moment she sent it, another message popped through and she swallowed hard as she read it.

_You haven't been back to your apartment._

She was faced with a choice here. Did she tell the truth of what had happened or try to lie? If Jaqen had visited her in person, it would be no question. He could always pick out a lie. But over the phone, it was easier.

_They kept me here overnight because of my injury. Wanted me close until they have more information on who tried to kill my client._

She sent the message then quickly slipped her phone into her pocket, hoping that Tywin had not seen that she had sent two messages. Thankfully, he was looking over something at his desk.

Within a day, Arya was suddenly being asked to play many lying games. And she was not sure which would fall through first.

* * *

Jon had the night shift again, which was not at all surprising. As a rookie, he had been warned that he would often end up with the worst hours. It was a seniority thing. But he didn't really mind. He had always been a night owl, and after all that had happened today, he knew he would not be sleeping easily.

He couldn't stop thinking about Arya. Her sudden reappearance had been a miracle to him. How often had he sat by his window at night after she disappeared, looking out into the darkness, waiting for her to come home? Even after they found her dead and buried her in the ground, sometimes he still tortured himself with the hope. That maybe... just maybe... it was a mistake.

How amazing that it _had _been a mistake, and for the first time in three years, he had his little sister back.

He never told Arya, but she was the reason why he became a cop. When she went missing, Jon wanted to help look for her. When she died, Jon wanted to help catch her killer. So he had thrown himself toward the goal of becoming a detective. Then if another girl went missing somewhere down the line, maybe he could find _her._

Turned out, Arya had found them, but he still didn't know where she had been all of this time. She had kept her mouth shut. But he knew it couldn't have been her own choice to stay away. Arya was a rebel, but she was loyal to family above all else. She wouldn't just abandon her family. Not unless someone else forced her. So who? Who could have...?

"Stark," a voice barked from the driver's seat. Jon blinked and looked at his partner, Qhorin. He was a veteran with the force and they called him Half Hand because he had lost two of his fingers and a chunk of the palm from his left hand during the war. He still had enough fingers to handle a gun and operate a car though. "The purpose of patrols is to actually pay attention."

"Yes, sir. Sorry," Jon said. "I have a lot on my mind."

"We all have a lot on our minds, son," the man muttered, scanning the street. "But we leave it behind when we go to work. Especially on the night shift. If you've got a lot on your mind when you break up a drug deal, you get killed."

"Point taken, sir, I understand," Jon said.

Qhorin sighed as they turned the corner. "You know, Thorne thinks you're just some rich kid looking to play the hero for a while before he goes to join up with the family business."

Jon swallowed hard. "He's said."

"And are you?" Qhorin asked.

Jon focused outside the window. "What do you think, sir?"

Qhorin let out a bark of a laugh. "I think you've got a lot of your uncles in you. Not just Ned Stark but Benjen too. You know we served together overseas. Benjen and I, that is."

"He told me that once," Jon said. "So... if I have my uncles in me is that a good thing."

"Aye. They never did anything that they didn't believe in," Qhorin said. "I think you're here for sincere reasons. And forgive me for saying it, but you don't seem the business type."

"I'm not," Jon admitted. "Not even close."

The radio crackled, and a report came through. "Suspicious activity on North and Steel Street. Possible drug deal. Four wildlings. Need backup. Over."

Qhorin picked up the radio. "Officer Stark and Officer Halfhand in pursuit. Over."

Jon gave him a look. "You call yourself that over the radio."

"Sure," Qhorin said. "I'm the only one on the force with half a hand." He made a quick turn. "All right, Stark, have you dealt with one of these before?"

"No sir," Jon said.

"We'll take them all into custody and search for drugs," Qhorin said. "If we find 'em, we book 'em. A drug offense is enough to get them sent back to the far north. Wouldn't be surprised if they're here illegally, anyway. Most are. You can keep your distance, and if one tries to run, you follow. I'm guessing you're the fastest of us."

"Yes, sir," Jon said, steeling himself. Drug busts around the city could get violent, so he would prepare for the worst. But he had no desire to use his gun today. He hadn't thought yet what would happen if he actually killed someone.

They pulled up slowly next to another cop car and climbed out, moving to where the other two officers stood, peering around the corner. Sure enough, around the corner, there was a group of wildlings huddled around a trashcan fire. Jon didn't see any drugs changing hands. Really, they just looked like they were trying to keep warm on a cold night. Two of them had cigarettes, but no drugs.

"The two of us will go in," one of the other officers said. Slynt. Jon hadn't had many interactions with the man, but he knew that he was friendly with Thorne, so Jon automatically didn't like him. "You two stay back to arrest the runners."

Jon nodded once, standing just behind Qhorin as the other two slipped out from behind the corner.

"Police! Freeze!"

The wildlings did not freeze. They didn't even try to make conversation. They just scattered in all directions. One came around the corner and the Halfhand knocked him back with a stiff arm. A second slipped around him, quick as a shadow, faster than Jon could react.

"Get that one, Stark!" Qhorin called out.

Jon obeyed, taking off after the wildling at top speed.

He was small but fast for his size. Still Jon could see that he was gaining ground. He followed him down an alley and around a tight corner. Then he caught the back of his hood and pulled. The wildling slipped and fell on the ground, wincing as he did. And only as their hood fell back did Jon realize it was actually a woman. And not just any woman. The same one he had met in the bar earlier that day. Ygritte.

There was hate in her eyes, but she recognized him too. "Well, if it isn't the pretty face," she sneered. "You gonna take me in, _Officer Jon_?"

She remembered his name. Jon tried not to feel flattered by that. "If you have drugs, then yes. That _is _illegal."

"We don't have drugs," Ygritte said.

"Then why did one of my colleagues see a handoff? He said you had Long Night. Are you calling him a liar?"

"Aye, I am," she spat. "We don't play with 'Long Night'. We know better than that. It's a poison. You can check my pockets if you like. But if they find any Long Night on us, its cause they planted it."

"Why would they do that?" Jon asked.

Her lip curled in a defiant sneer. "You really know nothing, Jon."

Her knee jammed suddenly into his stomach and sent him toppling off. She was on her feet in a second, backing away from him.

"You wonder why I don't like cops?" she asked. "It's cause they don't like us. They plant drugs on wildlings so they have an excuse to send us back north. Even those of us with papers. They can't stand the likes of us bein' around. So they have to make up crimes for us."

"So I should trust your word over his?" Jon asked.

"Why not?" Ygritte said. "Didn't your friend say you were a rookie? You've only known him for a few more days than you've known me." A smirk twisted at her lips. "And I'm much prettier."

Jon slowly pushed himself to his feet. He knew that in close quarters, he could probably subdue her. He had the cuffs hanging on his belt. But there was a bit of doubt in the back of his mind. What if she was telling the truth? What if this was all just a setup?

"Turn out your pockets," he said.

Ygritte rolled her eyes and did so. She took off her jacket and shook it out a bit. She pulled out her small jeans pockets. She turned around to show him she had no other place to hide anything.

"See? I'm clean. So what grounds do you have to arrest me? For being a wildling? I've got papers."

Jon swallowed hard and raised his radio to his lips. "Qhorin. Did they find drugs? Over."

He waited for a long moment. Then the radio sounded back. "Yeah. Small amount on one guy. Two others got away. Over."

The words themselves were not suspicious. But in the background, Jon heard the wildling making a scene.

"-not mine! I didn't have anything!"

"That's Benny," Ygritte said. "Won't even touch alcohol, Benny. He wouldn't have had no Long Night in his pocket."

Jon fiddled with his radio, trying to decide what to do. What did he do in this situation? She seemed like she was telling the truth and she didn't have the drug on her. Because they couldn't have planted it on her. She got away.

Qhorin's voice echoed through the receiver again. "Did you catch your wildling? Over."

Jon made a snap decision in that moment. One that he wasn't sure if he would regret or not.

"No. They got away. I'm sorry boss."

Ygritte looked at him, wide eyed, as he waited for a response.

"_That's fine, kid. We lost ours too. Come on back to the car."_

"Yes, sir." Jon stowed his radio back at his belt. Ygritte was still watching him carefully.

"Why?"

"You don't have any drugs," Jon said. "Can't take you in without a crime."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what if I'm hiding them very well, somewhere tucked in on my person?"

"Suppose I won't know then." Jon took a step back. "Go on. If you're right about the planting... then I'm sorry for your friend."

Ygritte nodded once. Then she scampered off into the night. Jon watched her go, hoping with all of his heart that he had made the proper judgement call. And he really hoped that he hadn't let her go just because he found her pretty.

_No, _he told himself. _She was making sense. I just..._

He shook his head and hurried back to the car. It was too late to change his mind now. She was already gone. He would just have to live with his choice.

* * *

Jon and Qhorin returned from patrol at 6:30 AM as the sun was rising. And it was only then that Jon checked his phone and saw the message from Arya.

_My case file at the station is missing. Check for father's file. If it's missing, text me immediately. Then find out who wrote the files and give me their names. Be discreet. Don't make them suspicious. There could be dirty cops in the KLPD._

And then, a second message, almost like an afterthought.

_According to Jaime Lannister, Brienne Tarth is trustworthy. Your call if you need help._

Jon blinked, turning the phone in his hand. Then he glanced at Qhorin. "Hey, where are the old case files stored? I'm still new, so I'm not sure where everything is."

"Down the hall over there," Qhorin gestured. "Second door on your right."

"Thanks," Jon said, hurrying in that direction. They sorted the files by date and by the crime. He looked for manslaughter and flipped quickly through to three years ago, trying to find the folder on his uncle. It would have been a major case. A CEO dying was a big deal and there had apparently been a thorough investigation, though it had turned up nothing.

But he couldn't find it. He flipped back and forth through the 'manslaughter' files and found nothing. And when he checked in the other categories just to be sure no one misplaced it.

But it wasn't. Arya's hunch was right. His uncle's case file was missing.

And suddenly, Jon did not feel so guilty for distrusting his coworkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously some more Jon/Ygritte goodness and some advancing of the mystery which Jon is now in on. This was one of my longest chapters in this particular story yet so I hope you all enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	20. Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday everyone! We're back with another chapter, including some POV from Arya, Tywin and Jon. Slight warning for some sexual harassment in this chapter but it doesn't last for too long or go too far. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

They gave Arya a guest room in the Lannister house. She texted the Faceless Men that the Lannisters wanting to keep her 'closer to Myrcella' and they bought it. In fact, Jaqen seemed to see this as an advantage. She was gaining trust, just like Jaqen ordered her to do. And now she was closer to the Lannisters than ever. She still did not know why exactly. It could be anything from gathering information to being in the perfect position for an assassination. The Faceless men often let their agents stay undercover for months, integrating themselves into the society until it seemed they were always there.

There was a worry in the back of her mind—what if they meant for her to assassinate a Lannister? But she dismissed that fear rather quickly. If the Faceless Men meant her to kill one of the family, this would be too obvious. A bodyguard with close access to the Lannisters? Beth Rivers would be a suspect. More likely, they put her here because she would come in contact with a target. She had access to many of the wealthy elite.

She worried about their choice of target should assassination be her mission. She had trained for it, and she had killed before in Braavos, but the ones she had killed had been terrible people who hurt others. What if they asked her to kill someone kind? The Faceless Men did not bother with basic morality. If a price was paid, they did the job.

Arya shook the thought from her mind. This could very well just be a mission to gather information or to test her ability to blend in, while also putting her in the path of the one who ruined her life. This was Arya Stark's last job, and she did not have time to worry about what it was. She had made a deal.

She woke to an early morning text from Jon. He had checked the files and, sure enough, found her father's file missing. One missing file was suspicious enough. A second from the same family? There was no way that there wasn't a connection. She quickly tapped back an answer.

_Do you know who wrote the reports yet?_

_Not yet, _he shot back a moment later. _Trying to be subtle when I ask. I'll keep you updated._

Arya nodded once, quickly dressing for the day. She would need to return to her apartment soon to pick up a few things so long as she was going to stay here. She adjusted her collar to make sure she looked professional again. Then she stepped out into the hall.

It was quiet in the house that morning. Arya saw only a few maids going in and out of the rooms to change the sheets. She knew that Tywin could very well be at work or in his office. She figured that if he was in his office, he would like an update on the situation immediately. After that, she could find Myrcella and make sure she was truly okay from her experience a few nights ago. Arya suspected she might not want to go out again for a while after such an ordeal, but Arya knew she would feel better if she didn't lock herself in her room. She knew it wasn't exactly her _job _to check in on Myrcella like that, but she couldn't help but feel worried for the girl.

She paced in front of Tywin's office and heard his voice from inside. He was on the phone with some important partner, and she wondered for a moment if she should listen at the door or just walk right in.

No. Better not to be too obvious in her eavesdropping, especially since she had only just started staying in the house. Tywin Lannister was suspicious of her, naturally, since she had already lied to him many times before. Her job now was to gain back some trust. So she went instead to the parlor to wait for a bit.

She checked her phone again to find a text from Sansa.

_S: Just checking to make sure yesterday wasn't a dream._

Arya smiled and tapped back a response.

_A: It's not. I'm still here._

_S: Where are you?_

_A: Lannister manor. I'm staying in a guest room. This place is huge. I feel like if I walk too long, I'll get lost forever._

_S: You will. I've gotten lost there before._

Arya sighed. It was a reminder to her again that Sansa had been in a relationship with Joffrey while she was away. Her sister told her not to blame herself, but she did. It was impossible not to. Because if Arya had been there, she never would have let Joffrey _near _her sister again.

From her place on the couch, Arya heard the front door slam open with the confidence of someone who lived there. She glanced up and saw the very boy in question sauntering through the front hall. He always appeared when she was most thinking about how much she hated him.

For a moment, he passed by the parlor doors and Arya let out a breath. But a few seconds later he burst through, making his way to the decanter set near the piano. He had already started pouring a drink for himself before he even noticed that she was there.

"Oh. It's you." He gave her a look as he turned around, leaning on the piano. "Betty, right? What are you doing here?"

_Why are you drinking at 8:00 AM, _Arya wanted to respond. Instead, she kept her expression professional. "It's Beth. And I'm waiting to discuss a matter with your grandfather. He's in a meeting."

"Usually is, yeah," Joffrey sipped his drink. "Didn't know you had the qualifications to speak with my grandfather."

_Does speaking with him require qualifications, _she wondered. But then again, Tywin Lannister was extremely intimidating, so maybe there were qualifications. "It's a matter specifically concerning Myrcella," she lied. "He asked for a more thorough report."

"Right, right. Someone shot at her a couple nights ago, didn't they?" Joffrey asked. He sounded way too casual about that statement. If one of Arya's siblings had nearly been killed, she would not be frantic. But then again, perhaps that was because he was more than a bit inebriated. Joffrey had probably been up all night and was just continuing drinking to keep up his buzz.

"Yes," Arya said. "Someone did. Not to worry, she's fine."

"I _know _that. I talked to her yesterday," Joffrey said. "Seems fine enough. Scared though. Cella always scared too easily. Couldn't watch a horror movie to save her life." He stared down at his drink. "Doesn't make sense anyone would try to kill her. Of all of us, I mean. Me, maybe. Or mother. Or grandfather. Why her?"

If Arya wasn't mistaken, she thought she heard a hint of worry in his voice. "I'm not sure, sir. We're trying to figure that out."

"Someone trying to hurt us, I guess," Joffrey said. "That's what it is. It's a threat. Trying to make themselves look big, like they can take on our family. Well, they won't be able to. We'll crush them."

_Yes. He's definitely drunk, _Arya thought. And he was as afraid as Myrcella. He was thinking about what would happen if someone came after him. She didn't blame him for the paranoia. Hadn't she felt the same way after her father had died?

"Yes, sir," she replied neutrally. "I'm sure you will."

Joffrey finished his drink and slammed the empty glass down on the piano. Then he looked back at her, wagging a finger in her direction. "Beth... you know I figured out who you remind me of?"

_Son of a bitch, _Arya thought. "Have you?"

"Yes. Not a one-night stand. An ex of mine. Sansa Stark," he said. And Arya felt her emotions turn from panic to icy anger. "Bet you've seen _her _in the papers, haven't you? You look a little like her."

Most people used to say that Arya and Sansa looked absolutely nothing alike. But she had red hair at the moment, and perhaps her use of makeup made their faces a little closer. "I have seen her in the papers," she said after a pause. "Must be the hair."

"Probably. I like red hair," Joffrey said. He was getting closer to her and Arya stood, sensing how his expression had shifted. It was typical of a drunken man. To go from worried and agitated to predatory at the drop of a hat. "You're not as pretty as she is, but you're nice to look at."

Arya felt nauseous. She started to back toward the parlor door. "Sorry, sir. I should see if your grandfather is done with his meeting."

"He's probably not," Joffrey said. "Wait a minute."

Arya had nearly reached the door, but he moved faster than she expected. One arm pressed against the wall between her and her escape and the other gripped her arm. Her injured arm. Arya winced when he squeezed too hard.

"I said to wait," he said. "I just want to talk a little longer. And you shouldn't run away when I'm talking to you. You work for me."

He had the Lannister height and Arya hated how he loomed over her in that moment. It was taking every ounce of her self-control not to drive the heel of her free hand up into his nose. She could think of about ten ways, in fact, to get him the fuck off. It would be easy. Joffrey was not a fighter. Not by any means. In seconds, she could have him on the ground crying out in pain.

But there was still her cover to think about. Joffrey could not know who she was, and if she attacked him or showed her rage, he might see Arya in Beth's face. Beth wouldn't attack an employer for fear of losing her job. Beth knew that if she attacked Joffrey, he would go straight to his mother with a complaint. And Arya was not sure if Cersei knew the truth yet either. Too many complications. She couldn't afford any more failures.

"I work for your sister, sir," she forced herself to respond. "And I need to go... see to her wellbeing. Please let me go."

"Why? I'm not hurting you," he said. "You know you should be honored I'm even paying attention to you. I'm a Baratheon _and _a Lannister. Usually, someone like me wouldn't even give you a second glance."

_I'd love for you not to give me a second glance, _Arya thought. Her hands closed into fists at her sides. She had to diffuse. She had to diffuse this.

"I am honored, sir. It's very kind of you," she said. Her voice was flat and unconvincing, but he was too drunk and self-absorbed to understand that. "But I have to do my job. Please."

"I can always explain to my grandfather why you were delayed," Joffrey said.

_Oh, I wish you would, _Arya thought. She had to choke down bile in the back of her throat. This wasn't the first time this had happened to her. Sometimes, when she was wandering the streets of Braavos under cover, a man saw a need to pay her more attention than she liked. But the first rule of a Faceless Man was not to cause a scene.

The first time it had happened, she broke the man's wrist. She ended up locked inside the House of Black and White for two days after that, with no food. So the next time it happened, she learned to swallow her pride, be patient, and slip away from the assailant when they left an opening. Joffrey would leave an opening just as soon as he let go of her arm. She would be fine. She could handle this. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of his breath on her neck. Trying to keep her fists pressed against her legs.

"Joffrey."

Arya's eyes flew open at the sound of the voice and Joffrey's reaction was immediate. He was off of her in two seconds flat, halfway to the couch. She did not have to turn to know Tywin was standing in the doorway to the parlor.

"Grandfather," he said. "I was... just..."

"I don't need you to explain. I have eyes," Tywin said flatly. "Whatever it was, you won't be doing it again."

It was an order and Joffrey did not protest against it. He was pale at the sight of his grandfather. "Uh... right..."

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir," Joffrey corrected himself.

"Good," Tywin said. "You were out all night. Go see your mother. She was worried about you."

Joffrey nodded once, glancing from Tywin to Arya. She stared right back at him, letting her fury show clear in her gaze for a moment. Then he hurried from the room.

"That was restrained of you," Tywin said when he had gone.

She slowly released a breath and let her fists relax back into hands. "I couldn't... risk him recognizing me. So I tried... to handle things like Beth Rivers."

"And Beth Rivers wouldn't have fought back?" Tywin asked.

"She would have tried to avoid a scene. Avoid getting fired," Arya muttered.

"I see," Tywin said. "If he does that again, you have my permission as your employer to stop him."

She nodded once, rubbing her throbbing arm as she finally pushed herself off of the wall. For a moment it felt as if she had become one with the plaster. "I... have an..." She shook her head, trying to steady her voice again. "I have an update for you. From Jon. My father's profile is missing just like mine."

"I suppose that proves some connection then," Tywin said. "Has he figured out who worked those cases yet?"

"No, not yet. He said he'd get back to me later," Arya said. "In the meantime... there are a few things I need to gather from my apartment, if I am going to be staying here."

Tywin nodded once. "Do as you please. You can take one of the security team cars."

Arya nodded once. "Thank you, sir." Then she slipped off the wall and hurried from the parlor. She needed to get out of this giant house for at least a bit. Away from Tywin's scrutiny and _far _away from Joffrey.

She just needed a moment to breathe and be alone, without worrying about which lies she had to tell to whom.

* * *

The news about Ned Stark's file had not surprised Tywin. From the moment Arya Stark suggested it might be missing, he was sure it would be. And that, in a way, was good news. It meant they were onto a good lead.

What had surprised him was the girl's reaction to Joffrey.

The second time Tywin ever met the girl was four years ago when she was just fourteen. Cersei had been called to come to the school because Joffrey had gotten into a fight. She was out of town at the time, but King's Landing Private Academy had an infernal policy of demanding that family attend any meeting regarding disciplinary action. They couldn't send an assistant or anyone else to deal with the issue. And so Tywin had gone because Cersei refused to call Robert Baratheon to deal with the problem. Which was fair enough. Robert Baratheon barely knew the definition of the word 'discipline'.

When he had entered the main office, Arya Stark had been holding forth in front of the principal, utterly unrepentant for her actions.

"_He was spreading nasty lies about Sansa. She told him to stop, and he pushed her so I punched him because he deserved it, and I will not apologize for it."_

The principal looked at the end of his rope, as if he had already been listening to this for some time. In fact, Tywin suspected that this was not the first time they had called Arya to the office to justify such actions.

"_Shoving another student if against the rules," _the principal said. _"But so is punching a student in the face. No matter what he was doing, it wasn't your job to handle it like that. You should have gotten a teacher to help. We're meant to deescalate the conflict, not escalate it."_

"_You wouldn't have done anything about the conflict," _Arya snapped. _"You never do because you're too afraid of crossing his family."_

He had remembered the panicked look that crossed the principal's face at that statement, especially when he looked up to see Tywin standing in the door. And Arya had turned around to see him as well. But she didn't balk. She didn't retract her statement. She simply lifted her chin and held his gaze until her father quietly told Arya to wait outside while he handled the rest.

The girl hadn't been wrong. Joffrey often got away with anything and everything at school because the school was afraid of taking disciplinary action. And that had been more of a curse than a blessing. Joffrey never learned from any of his mistakes because Cersei fought the school every time they tried to punish him.

Arya Stark had seen as much, so she broke his nose. There was a grit that Tywin could respect in that. Even if she was impulsive and too honest with her feelings.

The Arya of four years ago, or even three years ago, would have tackled Joffrey to the ground the moment he tried anything like that with her. She very well might have beat his face bloody. But today she had stood absolutely still, pressing herself against a wall, looking like she was trying to disappear. She claimed it was because she did not want to be fired. As if firing her was even a choice for Tywin until he found out what was going on with her and the rest of her damn family. As for not wanting Joffrey to recognize her, perhaps that was smart but Joffrey wasn't what one would call... bright. She could have gotten away with twisting his arm a bit and she clearly wanted to. But she didn't.

There were more changes than that in the girl. Everything about her was more subdued. Ever since she had dropped the cover of Beth, he noticed it. She hesitated when she spoke and when she _did_, her tone was softer. She avoided eye contact. She made herself small. She was not the girl who had marched into his office to defiantly pay back a debt.

And then there were the scars. Qyburn had called them 'many' and Tywin did not know exactly how many that meant. Scars from gunshots. Scars from knives. And even bruises, mostly healed but still clear on her back. If she had been on her own, some of them would have killed her. Which meant, of course, that she wasn't. Someone had been keeping her somewhere these past three years. He just didn't know who or how long or when and if she had escaped.

Fortunately, she had taken one of the security cars, all of which were trackable. So once she had left for her 'apartment', Tywin went to the security building and had one of the team track where she was headed. She was staying in the slums on the west side, only fifteen minutes away.

"Once she's back here, I want you to send a few people to that apartment," Tywin told Clegane. "Search it. See what you find. Any detail could mean something."

"Yes, sir," Clegane said. "Wouldn't be surprised if we don't find much. She seems like she covers her tracks."

"Look for covered tracks then," Tywin said. "That can tell us quite a bit too."

One way or another, he would find out where the hell Arya Stark had been the past three years—and what brought her onto his payroll. He was just hoping he didn't have to be rough to get the information he needed. That was why he had reintroduced her to her family after all, hoping she might let slip relevant information to them. They were safer than him. He hoped that they could find out what the girl was up to without use of force.

Though if he thought she might become a danger to his family... he would have no choice.

* * *

Jon was reeling from confusion and sleep deprivation when Chief Selmy came into the station that morning, but still he knew better than to blurt out the question he was wondering.

_Who moved my uncle and sister's files? What happened to them?_

No. Barging in like that wouldn't get him the information he needed. And even if Selmy himself was an honorable man, as Jon suspected, being too loud about this could draw the attention of less honorable men in the department.

So he forced himself to approach with caution. "Excuse me, Chief. Do you have a minute?"

"Didn't you have the graveyard shift, Stark?" Selmy asked. "You should have gone home by now. Get some rest."

"Yes sir, I plan to, but I had a quick question first," he said. "Do you know who in the department worked on my cousin's case? Arya Stark I mean."

Selmy sat down at his desk. "Practically everyone in this precinct worked her case at one point or another."

"What about..." Jon threaded his fingers together. "What about the officers who found her dead?"

Selmy gave a sympathetic look. "I know it seems like a good idea to pry into the past and try to solve the unsolved, boy. But it will cause you more pain than anything else. I'd keep the door shut on that."

"I'd like to decide that for myself, sir," Jon said. "At least tell me who wrote the file. I just want to talk to them for a bit. Get some closure on it all."

Selmy sighed. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't tell you. It was two years ago, and we get a lot of cases like hers, so it's hard to keep it straight in my head. But you can ask around if you'd like. I wouldn't if I were you."

Jon bit the inside of his cheek. "Right. Thank you, sir."

He retreated into the break room, fighting not to curse. Selmy was one of the few men in this precinct he knew was honorable, so he had hoped he would have answers. But he also didn't want to share the information about the missing files with the chief. He could turn it into a larger investigation and the cops responsible would he harder to track down.

"You asked about the Arya Stark case."

Jon looked up to see a tall woman making coffee. He had seen her around before, but never worked with her. "Yeah. She's my cousin. _Was. _Was my cousin."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the woman turned around. "I worked on that case, but I wasn't the one who found her body."

"Do you know who did?" Jon asked. "Who determined it was Arya and who filed the report?"

She raised an eyebrow, and he cursed himself for sounding too eager. He should have waited until _after _he had a good night's sleep before he tried this.

"Sorry..." he muttered. "I'm just..."

"Grieving," the woman said. "I understand." She held out a hand. "Brienne Tarth."

Brienne Tarth. That was the name of the woman who Arya said was trustworthy. Or at least, Jaime Lannister called her trustworthy, and Jon didn't know if those two things canceled each other out. Could one be genuinely honorable if Jaime Lannister judged them so? Uncle Ned would probably disagree.

But she seemed genuine and friendly. There was no slyness behind her smile. She was just trying to help. So he accepted the hand. "Jon Stark. But you... maybe already knew that since I said Arya was my cousin." He released her hand. "Sorry for bothering you with this, but I'd like to know who discovered her body."

"Will that really help you?" she asked.

"Yes," Jon said. "I'd like to speak to them because... well, I'd like to know the truth."

She considered it. "Well, two people discovered the body. Allistair Thorne and Janos Slynt. I don't know who handled the file itself. You would have to ask them."

Jon let out a breath. Wonderful. So the two people who had discovered the body were two people who did not like him. Thorne especially seemed to dislike him, and Slynt just had a general contempt every time he looked Jon's way. Jon couldn't tell yet if it was personal or if he was just an asshole.

"Is there a problem?" Brienne asked.

Jon studied her for a minute, trying to make a snap judgement on whether he could trust her. And ultimately, his trusting side won over and he closed the staff room door. "Yes. To tell you the truth, my sister's file is missing from the records. I've looked everywhere and I can't find it. I checked for my uncle's file as well. It's gone. I think someone removed them."

Brienne's brow furrowed. "With what purpose?"

"Maybe there's a detail that they didn't want anyone digging up," Jon said. "Some... error in the case. If it was just one missing file, I wouldn't question it, but two?"

"That is suspicious," Brienne admitted. "Have you gone to Selmy?"

"No. I don't want to make a scene," Jon said. "And I don't want people to know I'm asking questions. If something is going on, then the one behind it might start watching their steps more. If I can I... want to figure this out quietly." He licked his lips nervously. "And... Jaime Lannister said you were someone I could trust."

The woman blinked in surprise and she glanced away for a moment. "I'm... not sure if Jaime Lannister's recommendation cancels that out or not."

Jon's mouth twitched. If that was her reaction, then perhaps he had made the right call. "I guess we'll have to see. But can I have your help on this?"

"Yes," Brienne said. "I'll see if I can't lure Slynt into a conversation. I've worked with him enough. I know how to handle him. He had the graveyard shift, so he's already gone, but I'll get a chance in the next few days."

"Thank you," Jon said. "Truly. I know this seems strange, but it's important."

"I believe you," Brienne said. "Feels like there have been problems in this precinct for a while. It wouldn't surprise me if someone got paid off to remove a few files. If it's a mistake, then it's a mistake. If not... we'll decide from there."

Jon gave her a nod.

"Now go home and get some sleep," she said. "You look like you're about to fall over."

Jon laughed once. "Aye. I think I am."

On his way out, he texted Arya.

_I have two suspects. Brienne Tarth is going to check for me. Look for an update in the next few days._

He had barely closed the door before she texted back.

_A: Names?_

_J: Janos Slynt and Allistair Thorne. They found the body._

_A: Great. Thanks._

Jon exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. It had been a long night... and if this rabbit hole went much deeper, he had the feeling he was in for a lot of those soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jon has some suspects, Joffery is a dick, Tywin is still watching Arya closely. Lots of fun all around. Should be some interesting stuff next chapter so review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	21. An Impossible Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! Lots of stuff in this chapter, including fun Braime banter which you know I love to write. Plus some other character interactions of course. Enjoy!

Jaime was as surprised as anyone to receive a text from Brienne Tarth. He sort of assumed that unless he forced her into an interaction that she would avoid him as much as possible. But the sight of 'wench' on his phone actually made him smile.

He should probably change 'wench' to her actual name. He would do that later.

_B: So, according to Jon Stark, I'm 'trustworthy'?_

_J: Really? That's strange. Who could have given him that impression?_

_B: I believe it was you._

_J: Did I? Dreadfully sorry. I'm a terrible judge of character._

_B: Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day._

A smirk crossed Jaime's face. He leaned over his table, flipping through some of his files again though he was barely reading any of them as he tapped out a response.

_J: So did the Stark boy enlist you to help him?_

_B: He did. Are you in on this whole... thing?_

_J: I have an interest in the case. It is one of my unsolved ones._

_B: Please tell me you aren't using the boy as a new method to return to police work._

Jaime sighed. He supposed that was suspect, wasn't it?

_J: I'm not. Cross my heart and hope to die._

_B: I don't think that works over text._

_J: Well, even if I did it in person, you probably wouldn't believe me._

_B: Good point. I wouldn't._

Jaime laughed once. He supposed this would be difficult to explain over text, wasn't it? He called her instead.

"Was texting not enough for you?" Brienne asked when she answered.

"Well, I take twice as long to text now," Jaime said. "On account of the one hand."

She paused for a minute, almost guilty. "Oh. Right."

"Don't worry about it. It gives me the exercise," he said. "I just wanted to assure you that the Stark boy isn't doing this for me. There's been... well let's just say his family is calling the Stark girl case into question. They want a little peace of mind but, unfortunately, the Stark girl's file is missing."

"Ned Stark's file is missing as well," Brienne said.

So, Arya Stark had been right then. This seemed more sinister with each discovery. "Interesting."

"You don't seem that surprised," Brienne said.

"I'm not. The possibility was... suggested by someone recently."

"By who? The Stark boy?"

"No. Another Stark. It doesn't matter."

"Uh huh," she sounded skeptical. "Aren't your families notoriously not friendly? Since when does a Lannister work closely with the Starks?"

_Since Arya Stark returned from the dead, _Jaime thought. "Oh, we're still not friendly. Certain events have just aligned our interests."

Brienne sighed. "Jaime, I will _not_ help you if you insist on speaking so vaguely."

"Who says I'm asking for your help?" he asked.

"You called me. That means you want something from me. This isn't a friendly chat," she said. "So give me a few answers or I'm hanging up."

Jaime rubbed his stump against the side of his leg. He couldn't tell Brienne about Arya. His father had expressly forbidden him from that topic. But perhaps he could give her another explanation. "My niece, Myrcella... someone tried to kill her a few nights ago."

"Oh," Brienne said. "Gods. Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Jaime said. "But... we think someone paid the man off. She's about the same age as Arya Stark, so my father approached the Starks to see if they knew anything that could help us. That's the reason."

"I see," Brienne said. "So you want to see that file."

"We do," Jaime said. "Or at least talk to the one who wrote it."

"Well, it's Allistair Thorne or Janos Slynt," she said. "I haven't had time to ask either of them yet."

"Slynt," Jaime said. "I'll put money on Slynt. Thorne is an asshole, but Slynt is as shady as they come."

"I think I should ask before we make assumptions," Brienne said. "But yes. I agree with you."

"Hmm." Jaime bounced on the balls of his feet. "Are you going out on patrol with Slynt soon?"

"Unfortunately," Brienne said. "Graveyard shift next week."

"I don't suppose we could cross paths right around then? I'd love to speak to him," Jaime said.

"And why would you need me there?" Brienne asked.

"Well, I need a good cop to my bad cop," Jaime said. "Someone to even me out. I certainly can't be the good cop."

"You can't be either, because you're not a cop," Brienne said. "And because Slynt would avoid you if you asked to meet with him."

"There, see, you get it," Jaime said. "I can be bad, and you can be the cop for both of us."

Brienne let out a long sigh. "You can't make a scene, Jaime. If you make a scene—"

"I won't," Jaime said. "I'll be on my best behavior."

"You _just _said you would be 'bad'."

"Figure of speech!" Jaime sat down on his couch. "Look, Brienne. This is important. I'm worried for my family right now and something... big seems to be happening. Now usually I'm a complete disappointment to my family but I'd like to at least do this for them. Please."

She didn't respond for a long time. Then he heard a heavy breath at the other end of the line. "I shouldn't say yes every time you say please. It's just that you say it so little."

"You're too kind," Jaime said. "Keep me posted. And thank you."

"You're going to get me fired. Goodbye."

She hung up before he could reply and he sighed, leaning back against the couch. If he was talking to anyone else at the station, he wouldn't be able to stop wondering if maybe they were in on it. But Brienne, she was the one person he knew for sure was good at heart. Honest. If she hadn't been that, she wouldn't have stayed on at the station. They made her life so miserable, but she endured. Because she wanted to be a cop, and she wanted to do the right thing.

He would endeavor not to get her fired. The KLPD would be worse off without her hulking presence.

* * *

Arya waited in the car for some time before she worked up the courage to enter her apartment. Mostly because she _knew _that the Faceless Men had access there, and she worried they had been inside the apartment. Not that she had left anything incriminating there. Tywin had discovered Arya at the Lannister manor, not within the apartment.

But still her nerves buzzed under her skin. This was her chance to prove herself a worthy recruit, and she was terrified of them judging her a failure. She had seen some trainees disappear and never come back and when she dared to ask their names or titles, most of the Faceless men replied 'who'? It was as if they never existed at all then. They were only memories to Arya.

Maybe they were on an assignment like her. Maybe they had gotten a new face. Sometimes they did that at the end of training. They surgically changed your face, so that there was no link back to who you used to be. Or maybe they had just decided that the trainee wasn't worth it. Arya didn't know. They never explained. But if she failed... she would surely find out.

At last, she mustered the courage and hurried up to the apartment building. It was locked, at least, though that meant nothing. She entered slowly, checking for any suspicious shadows on the wall. When she found none, she relaxed and closed the door behind her. Then she set to work, gathering her things.

She should take everything with her to the manor. Anything she left could point to the Faceless men. It was entirely likely that Tywin Lannister could have her apartment searched. They didn't have the right address on file, but he could have people tailing her. She would have to burn the file on Myrcella, for that would make her look far too suspicious. By now, she knew what she needed. As for everything else, she would need to make sure that the apartment was clear of anything that hinted at Braavos.

She hurried to stuff some of her more neutral clothes in a bag. Any that looked too much like she bought them in Essos would go into the trash. It was a good thing she didn't carry too much with her. It made the move easier.

The lock clicked behind her. Arya spun, swiping up her gun in an instant and aiming at the entrance, but she found herself looking at only a blur. The intruder was already inside and had a gun pressed to her temple.

"Hello, slow girl."

Arya let out a shuddering breath. The Waif. What was she doing here? "I didn't know you had an assignment in Westeros."

"That's because you did not need to know," the Waif replied. "Close the door."

Arya obeyed, keeping her movements calm and controlled as she did. She reminded herself that the waif might not know of her failure yet, and she had to proceed based on that line of thinking. If she did not, the waif would sniff out her weakness.

"They wanted me to check in on you," the Waif said, lowering her gun and returning it to her belt. "You were at the Lannister manor for two days. That could have been dangerous."

"Myrcella was almost killed, and I was shot," Arya said. "A minor injury. I dealt with the assailant. They had their private doctor see to me, so I avoided a hospital. My identity isn't compromised."

"That's good," the Waif said. If she knew Arya was lying, it did not show on her face. "Not that you were shot. You should not have been shot at all. Could have risked a hospital. But you are very slow and stupid."

"My apologies," Arya said. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," the Waif said. "Your incompetence has its benefits. Beth Rivers has gained the Lannisters' trust. Enough to stay in their house at least. That puts her in a good position for her next task."

"And what is that?" Arya asked.

The Waif did not answer her exactly. She circled the room, her hands tucked behind her back. "Is Beth Rivers close with the granddaughter?"

"Yes," Arya said. "She is. The granddaughter trusts her and shows interest in being her friend, although it would be professionally inappropriate."

"Good," the Waif said. "You may let her cross that boundary if you wish, so long as she never sees past Beth Rivers. But Beth must also get closer to the others in the house. Most of all, Tywin Lannister."

Arya's mouth felt dry. "Tywin Lannister." She shook her head. "You may as well ask me to touch the sky. No one gets 'close' to Tywin Lannister. What is the purpose of this?"

"That is not for you to know," the Waif said. "The stupid girl still asks questions. She never stops."

"It's not just that he's made of stone," Arya said. "It could compromise my identity. Tywin Lannister is a smart man, and he's spoken with Arya Stark before. If I get too close and he finds out—"

"Then you are not a very good Faceless Man," the Waif said. "And useless to us."

Arya swallowed hard. There was her answer to how the Faceless Men would react if she told them the truth. Tywin had already discovered her identity. She really wasn't a very good Faceless Man at all.

"Do you think we only trick the blind and the dumb?" the Waif said. "No. We trick the best. If you are going to pass this test, so must Beth Rivers. Not to worry. Opportunities will be provided. Understood?"

_What does that mean? Opportunities will be provided. What opportunities?_

Arya started to bite her lip, but stopped because she knew that was a sign of weakness. Instead, she paused and straightened her back, taking the position of Beth again. "Yes. Understood."

"Good. The stupid girl is not so stupid." The Waif smirked and Arya hated her for it. How many times had this girl tormented her in the darkness of the House of Black and White? Called her names, attacked her when her guard was down. Once or twice, she had nearly killed her. The Waif said she was helping and Jaqen said Arya had to adapt if she wanted to survive. Because a recruit who could not even survive the House of Black and White was useless in the field.

Arya had already failed a test, but for now, the Waif was buying her lies. She would have to play the game carefully, but it was still possible for her to pull out a victory.

She just had to tread lightly.

* * *

Arya did not make any detours on the way back to the manor, except to burn any incriminating evidence over a nearby trash can. She was wary of going anywhere else, because if she was gone for too long, that could give Tywin Lannister reason for suspicion. He was on guard with her for now, ever since he found out she snuck into his payroll. She had to earn his trust again... somehow.

But the task set before her seemed practically impossible. The Waif might as well have asked Arya to breathe underwater or free climb a skyscraper with one hand. People didn't get _close _to Tywin Lannister. He seemed to even keep his own children at arm's length.

The waif had said 'opportunities will be provided' and that sounded sinister.

So, when Arya returned to the manor, she did not seek out Tywin Lannister. She started with a slightly easier target. She dropped her things in her room and went to Myrcella, rapping twice on the door.

"Who is it?" Myrcella asked. She sounded tired, as if she had just woken up.

"Beth," Arya replied. "I'm sorry if this is presumptuous, miss. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

There was a brief silence from beyond the door. Then it cracked open and Arya saw Myrcella peering through. For the first time, she was not put together. She had thrown on some shorts and a grey tank top, her hair was a mess, and she wasn't wearing a spot of makeup. She was pretty as always, but Arya couldn't help but feel some concern.

"Beth," Myrcella said. "I'm glad you're okay. After they shot you, I worried."

"They fixed me up," Arya said. "It really wasn't severe, Miss. Just a graze."

"It was... a lot of blood though," Myrcella murmured.

"I know," Arya said. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

She shook her head. "You're not the one who scared me." She stepped aside from her doorway. "Will you come in?"

Arya nodded once, stepping into the room. The room was a mess, though perhaps she only noticed because Myrcella usually kept the room immaculate. Arya had barely had time to think about the night of the attack. Tywin discovering her identity, reuniting with her family, and the discovery of the missing files… all of it pushed the near shooting to the background of Arya's mind. For Myrcella, it had been one of the most terrifying days of her life. For Arya, the day wouldn't possibly make the top ten. Not even the top twenty.

_This says something about the state of my life, probably, _Arya thought as she turned back to face Myrcella.

"You weren't hurt at all in the chaos, were you, miss?" she asked. "I was so focused on getting you out of there. I wasn't sure."

"No, I wasn't hurt," Myrcella said. "Scraped knees I think from when you pushed me but... better than being shot." She swallowed hard. "Phillip didn't do so well, did he? I saw his head and..." She cupped a hand over her mouth and Arya saw the emotions rising in her. She stepped forward, resting her hands on Myrcella's arms.

"Hey. It's all right," she said.

"It's not," she said. "It's my fault. If I hadn't insisted on going to that party maybe Phillip—"

"No," Arya said. "Don't blame yourself for that. Blame the one who shot him. You didn't do that, Myrcella. It's not your fault."

A shaky sob left her, and Arya felt a pang in her chest. She cared so much, didn't she? About her driver. About her family. About everything. And when something like this happened, she barely knew how to cope. Arya remembered being something like that a long time ago, and she _wanted _to help her.

"It's not your fault," she said again, brushing her tangled blonde curls back from her face. "I promise. And you don't have to be afraid. That man can't come after you again."

Myrcella nodded once, letting her head dip to rest on Arya's shoulder. She stiffened for a minute, knowing that Beth might not be so forthcoming toward this girl. But then she also remembered the Waif's words.

"_You may let her cross that boundary if you wish, so long as she never sees past Beth Rivers."_

Myrcella had not seen past Beth. So it seemed safe enough to let her cry into her shoulder. And it even seemed safe enough to wrap an arm around her.

"It's all right," she murmured. "You're safe. I promise."

And though Arya was not sure if she could promise that... she wanted to. She really did. And she wished that Beth Rivers was a person who truly existed so that her promises could mean something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the waif is in town and definitely watching Arya. Keeping up the Beth Rivers persona is paramount, so we'll see how she does. Thanks as always for reading. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	22. Unlikely Situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone. Today's chapter has a Tywin and a Catelyn POV (though mostly Catelyn). Hopefully you all continue to enjoy!

Arya Stark had stripped her apartment clean when she left, and that alone told Tywin a lot. It meant that she was intentionally covering her tracks, and she had anticipated him having the place investigated. Given the size of the bag she brought back, she did not have many belongings. So she hadn't been living in that apartment for very long.

It made sense for a girl on the run to hop between locations as much as possible. The fact that she had learned to live on such a small amount of possessions was odd for a young woman who came from such wealth. Speaking of wealth, he wondered how she had paid for things all this time without leaving a paper trail. Cash could only get her so far and if she had ever used a card, they would have found her in a heartbeat. She could have taken out a large amount of cash at the beginning but not enough to last her this long. He guessed that she was not the one who rented the apartment. Someone else had rented it for her.

"Monitor the place over the next few weeks," Tywin said. "I want someone watching the building, seeing who goes in and out."

"Would anyone look for her there?" Clegane asked. "Now that she's moved out, I mean."

"Maybe not. Still, she might meet someone there. She couldn't afford to do that at the manor," Tywin said. "I'm just being careful."

"What about her phone?" he asked. "You could check it. See what she's got hidden there."

"If she treats her phone like she does her apartment, she's deleted any possibly incriminating messages as soon as they've come in," Tywin said. "She's not stupid. She knows I'm watching her. I need her to drop her guard and seizing her phone won't help that."

"Aye." Clegane leaned back in his seat. "I know you think she was being kept somewhere the last three years. But it sounds like you think she's still being kept."

"It's hard to say," Tywin said. "She could have escaped, and perhaps she just doesn't want to dig up a difficult part of her life again. Maybe she killed the one keeping her and fears she'll be punished for it. But I'm not ruling out the possibility that someone is keeping her on a leash and giving her orders."

"What's the point of these orders then?" Clegane said. "Play bodyguard to your granddaughter. What's the purpose?"

"Nothing good," Tywin said. "But she doesn't mean Myrcella harm, or she would already be dead."

"Who could she mean harm?"

_Me, most likely, _Tywin thought. "Hard to say. Maybe she just wants to know what happened to her father. I'm simply keeping the possibilities open." He tapped his fingers on the back of Clegane's chair. "Do we know how she got the agency to recommend her as a bodyguard yet?"

"No. But someone slipped her profile in amongst the others," Clegane said. "Could have been her. Kids can do all sorts of things with computers these days. Could have been someone else."

Tywin nodded once. There were many uncertainties at the moment. He knew he could probably clear up a lot of things right now with a more forceful interrogation. But that was a quick way to lose the Starks' cooperation in its entirety.

Speaking of which...

"Keep looking, and keep me updated," Tywin said.

He left the security building without waiting for Clegane to respond. It wasn't needed. He knew he would carry out whatever order he gave him.

He didn't exactly expect the same of Catelyn Stark. But at the very least, she had promised her cooperation, and he needed it here.

* * *

Catelyn was in the middle of a board meeting when she saw the message from Tywin Lannister, and she quickly turned her phone over on the table, wondering exactly how her life had led to this exact point. She had been wondering all day in fact. This weekend had been so life-alteringly strange that she still hadn't fully processed it. She kept running through everything in her mind, hoping that it might make more sense.

_My daughter is alive._

_Someone faked her death._

_Tywin Lannister found her working as a bodyguard for his granddaughter._

_They both think my husband was murdered._

_My daughter was shot a few days ago, and it was practically an afterthought in the conversation._

_I am apparently working with Tywin Lannister to help figure out what the fuck is going on._

No matter how many times she ran through the thoughts in her head, they never made sense. But they were making it very difficult to concentrate on the meeting at hand.

"Publicity is good following the Charity Gala," Jon Umber said. "Not as good as the Tyrells, of course."

"It never is as good as the Tyrells," Roose Bolton said. "But the Tyrells are also in bed with the Lannisters right now. It drags down their pristine image a bit."

"And raises the Lannister reputation at the same time," Galbart Glover said. He was the Chairman of the Board and had been since before Ned had died. She remembered he had raised some opposition to Catelyn's position on the board. Most of them had. But they had allowed her on at Robb's insistence.

"_You're asking me to take over as CEO when I've barely finished my degree," _he had said. _"My mother has the same education as me and the same amount of experience. And she knew my father better than any of you. I'll see her on the board."_

Catelyn knew most sons would not have fought so hard for their mother on that front. But then, he was terrified to fail his father's memory, and he had wanted someone he could trust beside him. The other members of the board—experienced men all of them—could try to take advantage. And Catelyn was there to make sure it didn't happen.

"It evens them out a bit," Bolton said. "Still, our numbers are good, and our shareholders are happy. Much happier than they were last year and the year before that. Things are stabilizing."

_Things. The death of your CEO is blowing over, you mean, _Catelyn thought, twisting her ring around her finger. And now Tywin's words were echoing in her head again.

"_I think someone killed your husband. You must have suspected it. But it was easier to think it was an accident."_

She had shut the door on her suspicion a long time ago, but now that it was open she could not stop herself from thinking about who had the most to gain from Ned's death. When he died, it destabilized the company, so outside competitors could have stood to gain a great deal. But then, what if it came from an internal source? Umber and Karstark... neither of them had been happy about Robb stepping in as CEO when he was so young. On one hand, that was an understandable reservation, but what if one of them had hoped to take over the company themselves?

_This is why I shut the door, _Catelyn thought. _The paranoia is too distracting._

She forced herself to pay attention to the rest of the meeting, trying not to let the numbers mix in her head. When it was done she exhaled, standing to pack up her things, saying a few goodbyes to the others as they left.

"You barely said a word today, Mrs. Stark," Roose Bolton said, stopping next to her.

"Didn't I?" she asked. "I suppose you all said everything on my mind."

"Perhaps. It's still unlike you," Bolton said. "You've always been... vocal."

She gave him a look. "Now, Mr. Bolton, I'm not sure if you mean that as a compliment or an insult."

"It has its uses," Bolton said. "You may remember, Mrs. Stark, but I had no qualms with you joining the board three years ago."

"Yes, I remember," Catelyn said. "Naturally, I appreciate that, just as I appreciate your concern. It's been a long weekend, that's all."

"Charity gala weekends always are," he said. "I saw Tywin Lannister speaking with you at one point. I wondered if you might need rescuing."

Catelyn sighed. If he had only known how the rest of the weekend had gone. "I can handle Tywin Lannister."

"I'm not sure anyone can handle him, frankly."

"Well, then a rescue would have been pointless, wouldn't it?" Catelyn asked.

The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. In truth, while Roose Bolton was congenial enough to her, she had no idea what the man was thinking at any given time. He had a steely gaze and a stony expression that only rarely cracked into a small smile which never reached his eyes. He surprised her when he supported her joining the board. In all the times she had met him, it seemed he did not like her. But she quickly learned that was just his demeanor with everyone.

And speaking of men with stony demeanors, Catelyn had just remembered a message she had received from one midway through the meeting.

"Anyway, I should go," she said. "I have a lot left to do today. But I'll see you tomorrow I'm sure."

"Yes, tomorrow," he said. "Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Stark."

She nodded once, waiting until he was out of the room to check the message on her phone.

_T: Come to the manor today._

He didn't phrase invitations as questions, did he? More like orders. Everything that came from the man's mouth sounded like a goddamn order. She thought for a moment before tapping out a response.

_C: Why? Is Arya all right?_

_T: The same as a few days ago. But I imagine you want to see her._

Catelyn exhaled. She knew perfectly well Tywin was not inviting her to the manor because he thought she might miss her daughter. He did anything and everything for a reason. So she hurried back to the safety of her office and closed the door before calling him.

He answered just after the first ring. "Is there a problem, Mrs. Stark?"

"No," Catelyn said. "I want to be clear on your reasons for inviting me to your house."

"I thought I'd already made the reasons clear," he said. He was even harder to read over the phone. His voice never changed its tone. "Your daughter is still hiding a great deal and I need you to press to see if you can get any relevant information out of her."

"So it's an interrogation then," she said.

"A discussion," Tywin said. "We're trying to avoid an interrogation, Mrs. Stark. That's why I came to you in the first place."

Catelyn's jaw clenched, and she slowly sat down at her desk. "What am I looking for then?"

"Where she's been the past three years," Tywin said. "She continues to be tight-lipped on that front. And I'm sure that's your primary concern."

Yes. It was. Especially if someone had been keeping her daughter away from her. But she was almost afraid to know where her daughter had been in the past three years. How had her daughter been hurt because she hadn't watched her closely enough? Because she let her get away?

"Mrs. Stark?"

Catelyn swallowed hard. "Yes, it is my primary concern. Fine then. I'll be by later this evening."

"Good," he said. "I'll see you shortly."

He hung up without another word, and she tossed her phone onto her desk. Gods, this was getting stranger and stranger by the day. And she could only hope that at some point it would all start making sense.

A knock came at her door just then and Catelyn brushed back her hair, plastering on a calm expression again. "Come in."

Petyr appeared in the doorway, a friendly grin on his face. "Cat. Sorry if I popped in at a busy time, but I was in the area." He strode forward, setting a coffee on her desk. "Thought you could use one."

"I always can," Catelyn said. "Thank you. What were you doing in the area?"

"Meeting some potential investors. Lunch. You know how it is," Petyr said. "I know you've been busy too. You should let me take you to dinner tonight. My treat. Business is doing well."

"Tempting," Catelyn said. "But I have some things to take care of tonight. It was... quite a weekend."

"I know you hate the gala," Petyr said. "But, if it makes you feel any better, you handled yourself wonderfully."

Catelyn's mouth twitched. "I'm glad to hear it. Do you think I convinced the press?"

"I'd say so," Petyr said. "What was the article I saw this morning? Strong showing from the Starks despite past tragedies?"

"I hope that's not the title they went with," Catelyn said. "Not catchy at all."

"No," Petyr said. "Well, I can only hope to become important enough one day to be terribly represented by the press."

"I don't recommend it," Catelyn said. "The press never cared about me before I started dating a Stark. Once I did, they never stopped talking."

"I remember," Petyr said. "You should choose your next lover more carefully."

Catelyn entwined her fingers together under the table, squeezing hard to keep her pleasant expression from dropping. She knew what Petyr was doing. The same thing that he always did—probing to see if she might _finally _be ready to move on from Ned.

Three years, to Catelyn, was not that long at all. It seemed five was the respectful amount to wait before seeing other people. But all of that aside, even if five years _had _passed, she wouldn't be able to give Petyr what he wanted.

She knew he liked her as more than a friend, and she had rejected him more than once. Tried to let him down gently. He was like a brother to her and a dear friend from childhood who she cherished. But she didn't want him as anything more. He was too... slippery for her. He schmoozed and smiled but she never really knew what he was thinking. And she did not like people who used a smile to cover more nefarious intentions.

And gods, she still didn't want to think about having a partner at all. As respectful as Petyr was trying to be, he couldn't hide his real intent. He was waiting in the wings, waiting for his chance, and Catelyn couldn't give him that chance.

_I wonder, _she thought. _If he did not have feelings for me, would he have even offered his help after Ned died? Would he even treat me like a human being?_

It was a good question, she supposed, and one that she would never know the answer to. Because if Petyr's feelings had persisted this long, they showed no sign of dying anytime soon.

"Well, I'm used to the press by now," she said at last. Then she stood. "Anyway, I hate to run out on you, but I have a lot to catch up on. We'll get dinner another time though. End of this week, perhaps?"

"Whenever you'd like, Cat," Petyr said. "I'll walk you to your car."

She nodded once, pretending that she wouldn't rather go alone. On the way there, Petyr told her about some connections he had made at the gala and how he expected them to pan out. He had hopes for some connections. Renly Baratheon, for instance, who was engaged to marry Margaery Tyrell.

"Obviously he's not the main Baratheon," Petyr said. "But he has some pull. Not to mention the impending connection with the Tyrells. If there's one family that can knock the Lannisters down, it's the Tyrells."

"The Lannisters and the Tyrells are allies, Petyr," Catelyn said. "They work together, not against each other."

"For now," he agreed. "But sometimes enemies pretend to be friends to get the upper hand. I wouldn't be surprised if the Tyrells become an asset. You should keep your options open." He rubbed his hands together. "And it's not just them. I may gain some investment from Tyrion Lannister."

"Tyrion?" Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "The one who's in the tabloids every week for his... habits? He doesn't seem like someone you want associated with your company."

"You wouldn't think," Petyr said. "But don't let his facade fool you. The man's a genius with investments. Been growing his assets for some time, and he doesn't even have his father's help. Tywin Lannister cut him off a few years ago, so Tyrion is open to helping rivals take on his dear father. And that is exactly what makes him a good person to associate with my company. Tywin Lannister is a good villain. If you stand up to him, you're automatically a hero. Tyrion could be that." He shrugged. "And so could I."

"I'm not sure heroes talk openly about gaming the system, Petyr," Catelyn pointed out as they reached her car.

"Well, we can't all have honorable reputations, Cat. That doesn't earn money," Petyr said.

"I'm not sure," Catelyn said. "My husband did well enough at earning money."

Petyr sighed. "Yes, yes. But don't pretend he didn't break the occasional rule. Everyone does in business. Tywin Lannister just has a darker reputation than others." He gave her a look. "You know I saw him speaking to you at the gala. I thought you might need a rescue."

Catelyn sighed. Gods, had everyone noticed her speaking with Tywin? Their conversation did not even last five minutes. "I can handle him. I don't know why you think you'd fare any better, Petyr."

"Maybe I wouldn't. But I'd still be willing to help," Petyr said. "I'm not after _his_ investment."

"Yes, of course," she said. "It's been good talking to you, but I really have to go."

"Right." He slapped the top of her car as she clambered inside. "I won't keep you. But I will insist on that dinner!"

"I'll look forward to that," she lied before she shut the door. The quiet of her car was welcoming. But gods, it was nearly the end of the day and she still had to go deal with Tywin Lannister. At the very least, she could also see her daughter again. Her daughter who was alive.

She leaned her head back, letting out a long breath. No. No matter how many times she repeated that miraculous fact to herself, it still did not feel real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for now! Next chapter will feature Catelyn and Arya interacting again as well as some Catelyn and Tywin interactions, cause you guys know I love writing those. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	23. Prying Deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! Should be some interesting conversations in the chapter this week, and of course interactions between three of my faves (Arya, Tywin and Catelyn). Enjoy!

Catelyn had only been to the Lannister manor once before, when she came to ask Tywin for help looking for her daughter. She had half thought about not asking him at all. The Tyrells, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys, and many other major houses were fine but the Lannisters? She knew that _he _would not help her. And even if he did, he would only do it to put her in his debt.

And yet she was so afraid for Arya at that moment that she hadn't cared about any potential debts. She asked him, anyway. Because as cold as he was, at the very least he was a father.

That had been just one of their many strange encounters. Whenever they spoke outside of a business context, it was so bizarre that Catelyn spent a long time after the meeting having to turn it all over in her head.

A valet took her car when she stepped out and a servant greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, offering to take her to her daughter. Catelyn nodded once, trying not to stare too much at the gardens or the magnificence of the house. She had only seen this place at night and it was almost blinding in the daylight. The Lannisters certainly liked to put their wealth on full display.

The servant led her through the front hall and down the west wing until she reached a sitting room which the maid called 'the green room'. Perhaps because this place had so many sitting rooms, they had to keep track of them by color. And indeed, much of the furniture in this room was a rich green, accented by gold. Catelyn paced inside, letting her fingers circle the top of a beautiful vase. She wondered, if she were to add up the worth of everything in this room, what would be its value?

"Miss Rivers will be along in a minute," the servant said. "And there will be tea."

"Thank you," Catelyn said. Perhaps she wouldn't have to interact with Tywin after all. That would be a welcome break.

When the servant left, she continued circling around the room. The windows looked out over the backyard where the leaves had changed into an array of brilliant colors. The forest was so thick that the place seemed to be in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors to speak of. In fact, Catelyn couldn't help but wonder how much land this manor encompassed.

The door creaked, and she turned to see her daughter standing in the doorway. She recognized her in an instant now, even though she was dressed as Beth Rivers. A lump formed in her throat and she moved forward to embrace her.

"So you are real then," she said. "I still wasn't sure."

"I'm real," Arya murmured. "Thanks for coming to see me. You know I would visit myself but if I'm seen too much there... someone could see through Beth Rivers."

"I understand," Catelyn said. "I'll come and visit you as often as you'd like."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Even if you have to deal with the Lannisters?"

"Well, you've been dealing with them all on your own. I think I can manage." Catelyn said with a smile.

They sat down as the maid served tea and Catelyn tried not to watch her daughter too closely. It was little things she kept noticing though. Arya used to shovel food into her mouth whenever it looked good, but now she took tiny, controlled bites. It wasn't a bad thing necessarily, but it was... different, and Catelyn found herself wondering what else had changed in the past three years.

But she couldn't ask that. She did not want to probe too deep too quickly.

"What's it like working for the Lannisters?" Catelyn asked. "It can't have been easy. How long were you posing as a bodyguard?"

"It's been a month now," Arya said. "It's not terrible. Myrcella is the one I've spent the most time with and she's great, really. Not a mean bone in her body. I don't know where she got that from." She shrugged. "Tommen is nice too. Just as sweet. Jaime and Tyrion I've only met briefly, so I'm not sure how I feel about them yet. But Tyrion smacked Joffrey across the face and I thought that was nice of him."

Catelyn knew she shouldn't smile at that, but then again, Joffrey was a wretched boy who had taken advantage of her eldest daughter, so she let it slide. "I doubt you're going to tell me that Joffrey is 'sweet'."

"No. Horrid as always," Arya said. "Cersei has been a bit of a surprise, I suppose. She's not a nice person but I think she likes me in a strange way."

"You saved her daughter's life," Catelyn said. "She really has no choice but to like you." She raised an eyebrow. "Does she... know?"

"Not yet," Arya said. "I think she'll like me less once she finds out. I saved one child, but I also used to fight another one of her children regularly. So maybe those two things will cancel each other out."

"Perhaps," Catelyn said. Cersei was way too easy on Joffrey. If Robb acted like he did, Catelyn would have locked him in the house until he learned to behave.

"Jaime Lannister knows," Arya said. "And Sandor Clegane, the head of security. And Tywin."

"Yes, Tywin," Catelyn said. "And what is he like?"

It was an innocuous enough question, but Catelyn meant to ask a great deal with it. She didn't enjoy leaving her daughter in his hands. And on top of that, she imagined he would be terrible to work for. Even people who _didn't _work for him often found themselves afraid of Tywin Lannister. There was a reason, she supposed, that so many people wanted to 'rescue her' at the charity gala. She wanted to be sure he wasn't mistreating Arya at all.

"Tywin is... Tywin," Arya said. "He's like a living statue and you can never tell what he's thinking. And apparently, he's annoyingly observant." She adjusted her red curls. "I knew. I knew in the back of my mind that he would figure out who I was. Even though we'd barely spoken, I just _knew_. That's why I tried to avoid him." She sipped her tea. "But here we are."

"Here we are," Catelyn said. "I can't say that I'm upset he figured you out. He said you were reluctant to come home."

Arya's expression changed. It was subtle but Catelyn could see a wall go up between them. "You all already thought I was dead. I thought it would be too complicated if I showed up again."

"It's complicated," Catelyn said. "But it's a relief, Arya. You must know everyone is happy to see you. They just don't understand why."

Arya chewed on her lip, studying her reflection in her teacup.

"I know this hasn't been an easy three years for you," Catelyn said. "You've picked up your fair share of scars according to the Lannisters' private doctor."

Her daughter flinched. "Oh, did he tell you that? I wish he hadn't."

"I'm your mother, Arya. I want to know what's happened to you. Good and bad," Catelyn said. "You've gotten into a good deal of fights. And I know you weren't planning on staying away. The note you left. You said you would come back. What changed?"

Arya set down her cup, looking toward the door. Almost as if she was searching for some escape. "I... can't..."

"Arya, just tell me one thing," Catelyn said. "Was someone keeping you?"

Her daughter didn't answer for a long time and the silence, it seemed, was all the confirmation that Catelyn needed. But still she wanted to hear the truth from Arya.

"Yes," she said at last. "I don't... want to get into all of that. Someone was keeping me for more than two years. I escaped and came back here. But... but I saw that everyone thought I was dead, so I thought..." She swallowed hard. "I thought I could search for Father's killer without worry. No one would look for a dead girl, so I thought I might as well use it to my advantage. The damage had already been done."

Catelyn kept her face impassive, despite the rage rising in her heart at the confirmation that someone had her daughter for _two years_. "Were you ever planning on coming home on your own?"

"Yes," she said. "After I found father's killer. I thought... then you all might forgive me for being gone."

Catelyn reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Arya, if you were being kept somewhere, it wasn't your fault. You shouldn't have left like you did, without warning. But the staying away...There's nothing to forgive. Truly." She swallowed hard. "And we will find out who did this to your father."

"So you believe me?" she asked. "That he was killed?"

"Yes. I do," Catelyn said, brushing a strand of red hair from Arya's eyes. She knew that the color contacts were important for her daughter's disguise, but she missed their beautiful grey color which had been so much like Ned's. Her daughter always resembled Ned the most of her children. "Arya... the person who kept you. Where are they now?"

"Not a problem anymore," she said in a soft but sure voice. And Catelyn did not mean to pry into that right now. It was something at least.

She sighed. "All right... we don't have to talk about this anymore. I just needed to know the truth. But... I'm sure it's difficult to talk about." She returned to the tea. "You must have plenty of other questions about what happened while you were gone."

Arya gave her a relieved smile, glad to be off the topic of her own past. "I heard that you joined the business to help Robb. That's something."

"It was something," Catelyn said. "I was using a degree I hadn't touched for years. But I think I've done all right for myself."

"Have any of Dad's business partners given you trouble?"

"They did. But it's nothing I couldn't handle."

The conversation devolved into easier topics. Arya was much more eager to speak when the focus was not on her. And she seemed to want to learn as much as possible about life in King's Landing while she was gone. Catelyn kept a light enough attitude... even though she could not stop thinking about what her daughter had suffered.

They spoke as the light faded from the sky, and when it was dark, Arya stood. "I don't want to stop this. Really. But Myrcella is having dinner with friends. It's her first time out of the house since... the incident. She'll need me with her."

"Of course," Catelyn said. "I should head home too."

She let her daughter lead her back to the front hall, knowing that she might get lost if she tried to navigate it on her own. Then they parted at the foot of the stairs and Catelyn watched her daughter hurry back to her job.

It was a strange thing that she was playing bodyguard to Myrcella, a girl who had once been her classmate. But Arya seemed genuinely concerned for the girl's wellbeing. In a lot of ways, it was a natural profession for Arya. She'd always been so naturally protective.

"Mrs. Stark?" Catelyn glanced away from the steps to find Cersei Lannister entering the front hall, a confused expression on her face. "What are you doing here?"

Catelyn had no idea what to say for a moment. She couldn't tell the truth. That she was meeting with her long-lost daughter. Cersei didn't know the truth yet. So she offered something else that might make sense. "Waiting to meet with your father."

"About what?" Cersei asked.

_A contract dispute? The possible murder of my husband? What else am I supposed to say?_

"A matter that doesn't concern you," Tywin's voice came as a relief to Catelyn for perhaps the first time in her life. He had appeared from the east wing at exactly the right moment. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Stark. You may step into my office."

"Right." Catelyn glanced at Cersei. "Sorry to cut this short, Ms. Lannister. Another time."

Cersei's eyes narrowed, but she did not protest now that her father had entered the picture. She simply nodded and continued on her way up the stairs as Catelyn moved to follow Tywin down the east wing. She supposed she wasn't going to avoid an encounter with him after all.

* * *

"Do you plan to tell her?" Catelyn asked once they were inside Tywin's office. She had been in his office at Lannister Corporation headquarters more than once, but this space was far grander. Higher ceilings and antique furniture that she knew must have been ridiculously valuable. It was a space befitting a man like Tywin Lannister.

"When it becomes relevant," he said, pacing over to his desk. "Right now it might only complicate matters. Cersei sometimes stops using sense when it comes to her children."

"Is that what you call being protective?" Catelyn asked.

Tywin glanced up at her. "Would you like me to reveal the truth to her and put your daughter in her warpath?"

"My daughter seems to be under the impression that Cersei likes her."

"She likes Beth Rivers. I assure you, she will not have the same feelings about Arya Stark," Tywin said. "Speaking of which, how was your time with your daughter?"

"You mean what information did I extract from her?" Catelyn asked.

"Yes, obviously that's what I meant." He sat down at his desk. "Anything useful?"

"Well, I'm not sure how useful it is," she said. "But she... admitted that someone kept her for over two years. She didn't say where and she didn't say who kept her. Though she said they weren't a problem anymore. I didn't pry into what that meant."

"Two years," Tywin repeated. "Did she say why she didn't return home once she escaped?"

"Because we thought she was dead, and she didn't want to make trouble," Catelyn said. "She hoped that she might find out who killed her father. And that if she did, we would forgive her for being away."

Tywin seemed to consider this information, tapping two fingers against his desk. "That is a start. And we've made a start on investigating what happened to your husband as well."

"Have you?" Catelyn asked.

"Yes. His file was gone from the station. As was your daughter's file," Tywin said. "Someone pulled them. And obviously we know that there was something amiss with your daughter's death report... seeing as she's not dead."

"Do we have leads?" Catelyn asked.

"Some. Your nephew and my son are looking deeper into it," Tywin said. "We may have an update in the next few weeks."

Catelyn nodded once, pressing her fist against her outer thigh. It was becoming more real with every passing day. "Well, like you said. It's a start."

"Yes," Tywin said. "On a separate note, I'm leaving on business for the Reach in two days. I'm taking your daughter with me."

Catelyn's brow furrowed. "Why, exactly?"

"Well, she is Myrcella's bodyguard," Tywin said. "And Myrcella needs to get out of King's Landing for a while. She's been too afraid to even leave her room. So she needs a change of scenery. But I very much doubt she'll agree to go without Beth Rivers." He shrugged, flipping through a few papers on his desk. "It's not up for negotiation. I just thought you'd like to know."

_She's my daughter. I don't need to fucking negotiate with you, _Catelyn thought. But then, she understood the reasons. Arya was fond of Myrcella and she would want to travel with her to offer some protection and peace of mind.

"Very well," Catelyn said. "I suppose the Reach will be less dangerous than King's Landing."

"Hopefully," he said. "In any case, we'll all be in the Reach before long. Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell's wedding is close at hand."

Right. Catelyn had nearly forgotten about that. It was said to be the event of the year—a marriage between two of the most powerful families in Westeros. But it was a strange match to be sure. Renly was over ten years Margaery Tyrell's senior and there were rumors that he had inclinations toward men rather than women. The press rarely saw them together, and yet when asked, they claimed to be hopelessly in love.

But to Catelyn, this stunk of some sort of economic arrangement rather than a love match. The Tyrells could be trying to align themselves with the Baratheons, which was a problem, considering the Starks usually dealt with the Baratheons and the Lannisters usually dealt with the Tyrells. As long as Stannis stayed in control of the Baratheon company, she supposed that there wouldn't be much change. But if he ever stepped down, Joffrey and Renly were the next most likely candidates to take over the company, and both possibilities could mean bad things for House Stark.

She wondered if Tywin Lannister might have had a hand in this arrangement, but she didn't dare ask him here. Instead, she nodded. "Yes. I'm sure many people will be there. I assume you won't stay there until the wedding though. It's over a month away."

"No, I won't," he said. "I won't be gone more than a week. Your daughter will be home soon enough."

Catelyn nodded once. "Very well. Keep me updated on the rest then." She took a step back. "I'll see myself out."

She didn't wait for his confirmation. It had already been a long day, and she didn't want to prolong this encounter. She guessed that he didn't either. They were only working with each other out of necessity, tolerating the other until they could figure out what was going on in this damn viper's nest of a city.

Once the mysteries were over and the questions answered, they would return to business as usual, and Catelyn could, perhaps, have some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is spinning lies at record pace. Though at least she wasn't lying about being kept away, because she was. She's just lying about it not being a problem any more...cause it super is. Hope you enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	24. How to Bluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was one of my very favorite chapters to write on a character interaction level. People who like Myrcella and Arya interactions and Tywin and Arya interactions will enjoy for sure. And for those who have been wanting more action, I can promise we're not that far away from another action set piece. This is a little more slow burn on the plot but I thank you for your patience. Enjoy!

"You want to take Myrcella with you to _Highgarden_?" Cersei asked. "Why?"

Tywin sighed. "Is there something wrong with Highgarden that I should know about?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with it," Cersei said. "It's just that you never take her anywhere."

"She's also never been shot at," Tywin said. "You're the one who expressed concern about her not coming out of her room. This will get her away from King's Landing for a bit. If there's anyone out there who means her harm, best to take her somewhere they don't expect. I already discussed it with her. She agreed it was a good idea and wanted to go, so long as she could bring her bodyguard."

"Right. The bodyguard." Cersei crossed her arms and Tywin sensed irritation in her.

"Do you also dislike the bodyguard now?" he asked. He really could not keep track of Cersei's changes in mood.

"No," Cersei said. "In fact, I like the girl. But Myrcella has become a bit too attached to her. Beth Rivers isn't meant to be her friend."

"I don't think anyone or anything can stop Myrcella from making friends, Cersei," Tywin said. "You're welcome to try."

Cersei exhaled, finally ceasing her pacing and sat in a chair. "No. It would never work. I just... worry about her being away from me."

"Do you think I'll let anything happen to her?" Tywin asked. "She'll be fine. Like I said, the Reach is probably safer than King's Landing at the moment."

She nodded, seeming to accept that explanation at last. He couldn't give her the truth. He wanted to take Arya with him and keep an eye on her. Catelyn Stark's investigation had shed some light on the subject, but the girl was still hiding something. She said, at least, that her captor was 'no longer a problem'. And that was the bit Tywin wasn't sure if he believed.

"What was Catelyn Stark doing here?" Cersei asked.

"We had a matter to discuss," Tywin said. "I told you, it was of no concern to you."

"I'm pretty sure our family business _is _of some concern to me," Cersei said.

"It wasn't business," Tywin said. "It was a separate matter."

Cersei gave him a look. "Do we... often speak with Starks about matters that aren't business? I don't remember you having Ned Stark over at the manor often."

"Is this one of your moods where you insist on irritating me on principal?" Tywin asked. "Because it's working."

"I thought I was asking good questions," Cersei retorted, standing to her feet. "But fine. Keep your secrets. I wouldn't want to be a problem."

_That's a lie. You relish being a problem for me, _Tywin thought as she left the room. He would have to tell her the truth, eventually. Cersei was no fool. She would suspect sooner or later.

But for now, that was a headache that he chose not to deal with.

* * *

"Highgarden?" Arya asked as she watched Myrcella hurry about the room, tossing clothes onto her bed. "Really."

"Yes, I hope you don't mind," Myrcella said. "I know it's a bit of a trip but... well I'll feel safer with you around. You'll get paid double for your trouble."

"The pay isn't the issue," Arya said. "I was just wondering why."

"Grandfather thought I would like to get away from King's Landing for a while," Myrcella said. "And... well, I think he's right. You saw how I was last night at dinner."

Yes, Arya had. She was tense all the way through and she kept flinching every time someone entered the door too suddenly. Arya sat at the table next to them, but Myrcella kept glancing at her for support and she always gave her a little nod. A promise that she was okay. That she was watching the door, and she was safe.

They had finished the night without incident, but it had been quite an effort for Myrcella.

"The Reach is beautiful this time of year. So many colors," Myrcella continued. "I should like to see them. And it's been a long time since I've seen Margaery Tyrell. Have you met her?" She shook her head. "No, of course you wouldn't. I'm sorry, Beth. Sometimes I forget you're not from my circle of friends."

"I'm not," Arya agreed, and it wasn't even a lie. Arya had never been in Myrcella's circle, though they went to the same school. "I haven't met Margaery Tyrell. I have seen her in papers and magazines before."

"Everyone has," Myrcella said. "An actress, a model, an heiress to the Tyrell company... she's a dream. It's kind of strange that she's marrying Renly Baratheon." She went over to her bed, folding the dresses. "Not that he isn't handsome. But they just seem a strange pair."

_It's probably not a love match, _Arya thought. With the upper crust, arranged marriages weren't entirely unheard of. Sometimes families arranged them as a boost to their business. But the Baratheons and Tyrells _were _major rivals, so it was strange.

"In any case, I'm looking forward to the wedding. Everyone who's anyone will be there. And just imagine the dresses." Myrcella laid a hand on Arya's arm. "You'll be there too since you're my guard. It will be exciting. Much better than the Charity Gala, I promise."

"Even if it wasn't, I would go," Arya said. "That's my job."

Myrcella sighed. "Beth, you ought to get more excited about things every once in a while. This _is _a big deal."

"I'm very excited," Arya said in a neutral tone. But when Myrcella gave her a look, she couldn't help but grin. "I just feel out of place there, miss. I'm sure it will be wonderful for you."

"Yes. It will be," she said, returning to packing her dresses, folding them carefully so as not to wrinkle the fabric. Arya noticed she was packing for more than a one-week trip. Sansa always over-packed too. "But I'll make sure it's wonderful for you as well."

Arya doubted her abilities, but she was happy to see Myrcella like this. Her shoulders were more relaxed and her face had more color. She still had a nervous energy about her, but this trip might give her a chance to relax again.

This put Arya more than a little on edge, because she knew Tywin would be watching her. It was possible that the lie she spun for her mother had made its way back to him. She didn't know for sure, but she would assume that it had and try to keep to her story. She knew it was a dangerous game, telling so many lies. But if she told enough, perhaps the confusing tangle of deception would keep him away from the truth.

* * *

Arya used to love trains as a child. More often than not, when they visited the North, they took a plane because a trip by train would take two full days. But on shorter trips, they took trains. Arya preferred to watch the world roll by her window than look down on it from above.

She was not the only member of the security team on this trip. There were four others, including Merryn Trant and Sandor Clegane. When Arya questioned why the head of security was called to go on this trip, he just shrugged.

"Precaution. The Brotherhood without Banners has been active lately. We want Mr. Lannister to have the best guard. He is a prime target."

Arya had heard of the Brotherhood. They were a gang of sorts, active in the Riverlands, but they didn't go after the poor. They were much keener on targeting the rich, and Lannisters the richest of them all.

For that reason, they ran regular patrols up and down the train, checking for anyone suspicious, and they always had at least one person posted outside the door of their private compartment, just to keep things secure. But it was in the middle of one of Arya's shifts that Myrcella poked her head out.

"Beth. Come inside. I need your help."

Arya turned to face her. "With what?"

"I'm bored. That's what," she said. "Come sit with me for a bit."

"I'm... not sure I would be doing my job if I did," Arya said slowly.

"Actually, you would," Myrcella said. "Your job is to protect us. You can do that even better inside the car."

Arya wasn't sure if the logic was sound. She glanced past Myrcella's shoulder to see Tywin watching them. He gave her a single nod of permission and she sighed, slipping into the car after Myrcella. "Fine."

Myrcella beamed, closing the door. It really was one of the more lavish private cars Arya had seen. The seats were plush and there was a private bar behind a sliding panel under the window. A tiny crystal chandelier hung above, rattling when the train rattled. Arya really didn't see a point to that. But then again, the Lannisters insisted on outclassing most people with elegance.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Myrcella asked, taking a seat. "Our family owns this train line. The Farmans operate it, but we own it. Is that right, grandfather?"

"Yes, that's correct," Tywin said without looking up from his paper. Arya didn't blame Myrcella for being bored. He did not seem entertaining at all.

"Anyway," Myrcella lowered a folding table from the wall so it sat in between them. "I brought some cards. Do you play?"

"Depends on the game," Arya said. In Braavos, many of the Faceless Men were fond of card games, especially the ones that involved trickery and lying. It was good practice. Sometimes they went out into Braavos and tested their skills to see how much they could snatch from local drunks at the taverns.

"Well, what is your favorite game to play?" Myrcella asked, setting the deck between them.

"I'm... not sure you'd like it," Arya said.

"Don't say that before I've tried," Myrcella leaned forward eagerly. "What is it?"

"Poker," Arya said. "It doesn't seem like your kind of game."

"I haven't played before. Mother says that's how the poor lose what little money they have," Myrcella said. "I'd like to try it though."

"I'm not sure how your mother would feel about me teaching you a poor person's game," Arya said.

"Well, she's not here," Myrcella said, straightening her back. "So I'm your employer and you have to listen to me."

Arya let out a breath, glancing over to Tywin for... something. Help perhaps? He was still looking at his paper but there was some amusement in his eye. "She's right. You have to listen to her."

Arya sighed. _Wonderful. I'll just teach your granddaughter how to gamble then. _She turned back to Myrcella. "Well, we don't have chips. Do you have a coin purse?"

"Yes." Myrcella said, quickly digging in her bag. As she did, Arya slid the cards from the box, folding them a bit to loosen them up. Then she began to shuffle.

The cards moved easily between her fingers. It had taken her awhile to get the hang of it in Braavos because her hands were so small. But enough practice and it became as easy as breathing. She had even picked up a few tricks which she ran through as Myrcella finally came up from her bag, clutching a coin purse in hand. Then she stopped to watch Arya's hands moving, mesmerized. "Wow... you're good."

"Just a few tricks," Arya said with a shrug. "Dump out the coins. Let's see what we have to work with."

They spent some time dividing up the coins by size and Arya split them evenly between them, explaining the values and how to bet. Then she went through the basic rules, playing a slow round to help Myrcella get the hang of it. She mixed up the values of the sets a couple of times at the beginning, but she picked the rules of betting up pretty quickly.

Soon, Myrcella was making bets with confidence. She had a string of good luck helping her along. Multiple pairs and even one flush. And Arya, who had always been more than a bit competitive, could not help but bite back.

The real draw of poker with the Faceless Men was the bluffing. They tested each other to see how much of a bluff they could get away with. In a group of more experienced trainees, Arya often tried and often failed. But with Myrcella... it was far too easy.

She had absolutely nothing. A king high and a string of other worthless cards. But she bet high. Myrcella, cautiously optimistic about her own hand after winning so many rounds already, called the bet. On the next round, Arya raised, throwing in almost all of her coins. Myrcella balked at the move, her gaze flashing from her own cards to Arya's neutral expression.

"All right, I fold," she said.

Arya smiled and let her cards fall. Myrcella's jaw dropped. "Wait, you had nothing? Nothing at all?" She looked up at her. "Isn't that cheating?"

"No. It's bluffing," Arya said. "It's part of the game. Sometimes you have bad luck and you need to stay in the running. So you bluff. You make them think you've got something you don't really have. You scare them into giving you what you want." She scooped her new coins over to her. "And now we're about even again."

"So this is a game where you're allowed to lie?" she asked.

"You're encouraged to lie," Arya said. "If you can get away with it. That's what a bluff is. You don't _know _that you'll get away with it, but you take a risk for the reward."

"All right," Myrcella shifted in her seat. "Teach me how to bluff then."

"Well, I can try," Arya said. "You keep your face neutral. But not blank. If you're blank, they can tell you're trying too hard. See?" She let out a breath and a neutral expression settled on her face. "And once you have the right expression, keep eye contact. Don't look away or they can see you hesitating. But you also want to blink like normal or, again, they can tell you're trying too hard. Make your_self _believe that you have a good hand. A brilliant hand. If you believe it, they'll believe it too."

"Okay," Myrcella said. "Neutral face, eye contact, believe the lie." She looked Arya dead in the eye, wiping the smile from her face. "Like this?"

"Hmm." Arya tilted her head to the side. Myrcella with a neutral face almost looked unnatural. She was usually happy. "Maybe you should keep the smile. That's your neutral expression."

"All right," Myrcella said. "Deal me a bad hand and I'll try to bluff."

"Well, it won't work like that. If I know you have a bad hand, you can't bluff." Arya dealt her five cards. "How about this? Pick up your hand and tell me what cards you have. But I want you to lie on two of them."

Myrcella seemed keen to accept the challenge, and she picked up her cards, studying for a minute. Then she looked up at Arya. "An ace of spades, a nine of diamonds, a two of hearts, a king of diamonds and a three of clubs."

Arya smiled. "You don't have an ace of spades or a three of clubs."

"How did you _guess _that?" Myrcella asked.

"You glanced down for half a second when you lied. Indecision," Arya said. "Plus lying about the first and last card is common. Those are the ones that stick out the most."

"Well, it's hard to remember exactly what I have _and _keep eye contact," Myrcella said, letting the cards drop back into the pile.

"How about this then," Arya said. "Tell me five things about yourself. Make three of them truths and two of them lies."

"Oh, I've played this game before," Myrcella said. "Usually it's two and one."

"I know. We'll make it more challenging for me," Arya said.

"All right." Myrcella placed her hands in her lap, thinking for a long while. "My favorite season is spring. My favorite color is blue. I don't know how to drive. I play the violin. And I hate asparagus."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Your favorite color isn't blue and you don't play the violin."

Myrcella slapped the flat of her hand on the table. "You got it, and you didn't even have to think about it. How?"

"I told you, I've had practice. And you haven't had much at all," Arya grinned. "Also... your entire room is pink Myrcella, and so is half of your wardrobe."

"Good point." Myrcella sighed. "I'll have to practice more later." She stood to her feet. "I'll be right back. I need to use the restroom."

"Do you need me to go with you?" Arya asked.

"No, no. I think I can manage this." Myrcella said. Arya could hear the nerves in her voice, but perhaps she was trying to force herself to go places without a bodyguard to build up the courage. "Wait here. I'll be back to play another round."

Arya nodded once, gathering up the cards and shuffling them back into their deck.

"She seems very fond of you," Tywin commented. The sound of his voice almost made her jump. For a while, she had forgotten he was there. She wondered if he had secretly been paying attention to them the entire time.

"She's fond of Beth," Arya said with a shrug. "Because Beth makes her feel safe. Getting shot at for the first time can shake a person up."

"That is true," Tywin said. "You, on the other hand, seemed relatively experienced with it..." He glanced up from the paper. "Given how _unshaken_ you are."

Arya held his gaze, keeping her face impassive and her chin lifted. She knew he was trying to pry into her past again, and she had no interest in playing the lying game with him. "I've always been cool under pressure."

"Clearly," Tywin said. "So where did you learn to bluff? Not from your father."

"Maybe I learned from my mother," she said.

"Unlikely. Your mother isn't a very good liar either," Tywin said. "Honest people rarely are."

"Are you calling me dishonest?" Arya asked.

"You showed up at my manor in a disguise going by a fake name and you haven't stopped lying since," Tywin said. "So yes. I suppose I am calling you dishonest."

Arya looked away, returning to shuffling. "Have you played much poker, sir?"

"No," he said. "I know how, but I have little time for games."

"That's a shame. You seem like you'd be good at bluffing," she said. _Because I can never tell what the hell you're thinking._

"That's because of my line of work," he said. "I'd say I have more experience with reading bluffs than making them."

"Why's that?" Arya asked.

"You don't need to bluff when you have a winning hand," he told her. "That's where a bluff fails. If your opponent has strong enough cards, they don't fold, and you lose everything. People have tried to bluff with me. Most have found it doesn't work. But they're not just betting spare change."

"No," Arya said. "They're betting their businesses and livelihoods."

"It's higher stakes," Tywin said, folding up his paper and setting it down across from him. "Tell me, did you ever intend to join your family's business?"

"Well, when I was seven, I think I wanted to be a CEO," she said. "Not that I knew what that meant. I just wanted to do what my father did. But then I found out that Robb was the one who would eventually follow father." She flipped a single card between her fingers before sliding it back into the middle of the deck. "Which is fine. I don't think I have a future in business."

_I don't have a future as Arya Stark at all, _she thought._ Because if I find the answers I'm looking for and kill the one responsible... the deal will be complete. Even if I wanted to join. I couldn't._

But she didn't dare say any of that. She just kept playing with the cards, hoping that he would not ask questions that she could not answer.

At that moment, the door to the compartment slid open again, and Myrcella sat down across from her again. Arya held back a breath of relief.

"All right. I'm ready for another round," she said. "And this time, I'll call your bluff, Beth."

"You're welcome to try, miss," Arya said, dealing out cards between them again.

Ultimately, Myrcella wasn't all that good at identifying a bluff, except for once when she got lucky. It was easy enough for Arya to win, even though she had worse luck. But if Myrcella was a more experienced player, she would have easily taken all the coins for herself.

Because Tywin was right. It was better to have a winning hand than to bluff at all. Some people just didn't have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love a game of poker and some banter in between :) Hope you all enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Until next week, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	25. Highgarden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late today! I'm off for Winter Break, so I slept in. But, I've got some Tyrells, some Braime and Jon teaming up and some more Arya and Myrcella. Enjoy!

There were plenty of large manors in King's Landing, but their size and scope was limited by virtue of it being, well, a city. High Garden had no such limits, and it was truly an estate. Arya tried not to press her face to the window as the great house came into sight. She had never been to Highgarden before, even in her old life. It had the most gorgeous, lush gardens she had ever seen and a hedge maze which she would have loved to explore if she wasn't on business.

In particular, roses seemed to be the favorite of the garden. They came in all different colors, and the manor itself had a rose carved into a stone over the main door. This really looked like a set to a movie that Sansa would adore. In fact, Arya was reasonably sure they had used it as a set for some movie with a sweeping romance between a woman with an elegant gown and a man with a strapping suit. It was the ideal location for a wedding.

"Wow," Myrcella said. She was clearly just as impressed. "It's been ages since I came here. I had forgotten how huge it is." She looked back to Arya. "We have a manor this size in the west. But High Garden has the largest gardens by far."

"Yes, they have the virtue of living in the ideal climate," Tywin commented from the passenger's seat. "The West isn't as kind to most things that grow."

"I suppose that's why their business deals with food more than anything else," Myrcella said. "And textiles. They make some of the most gorgeous fabrics, Beth."

"I'll take your word for it, Miss," Arya said.

The leaves on the trees only added to the beauty of the estate. They had turned variously brilliant shades of gold, orange and crimson and the leaves scattered across the long drive as the car pulled up in front of the house. Arya fell in line with the rest of the security team, intending to stay with them to do her actual job, but as she climbed the steps, Myrcella looked back at her questioningly.

"Go on. Follow her," Clegane said. "She's your focus. If she wants you that close, do as she said."

Arya nodded once. "Yes, sir." Then she hurried to follow Myrcella.

The inside of the manor was just as elegant as the outside, with pearlescent marble floors cracked with pale green veins. There was a rose engraved in the floor at the center of the foyer, beneath a single table that was overflowing with flowers. They really embraced that theme, didn't they? It was almost excessive.

Nearly as soon as they entered, a young woman appeared at the top of the stairs, and Arya recognized her immediately as Margaery Tyrell. She always looked gorgeous on the big screen, which was to be expected. But even in the flesh, she was glowing. Not one hair was out of place and her green dress looked like something that she would wear on a red carpet. Did she just walk around the house like this? Or had she known that the Lannisters were coming and sought to make an impression?

"So good of you to come," Margaery said, gliding down the stairs and extending her hand to Tywin. "I know we just recently saw each other at the charity gala, but it's good to see you again."

"Is it?" Tywin asked, seeming unimpressed by her manners. He probably knew that they were a front. Margaery treated every person of importance, regardless of how much she liked them, as if they were the most important person in the world. Unless she wished to make a statement. If Margaery Tyrell frowned at you, it was as good as being cursed. Or at least Sansa had once explained to Arya.

She was a genuinely nice person by all accounts. She gave more to charity than anyone else in Westeros, but she was always quite... loud about it. It was hard to see how much of it was because she cared and how much of it was for her image. But as long as someone benefitted from her generosity, Arya supposed it didn't matter.

"Of course it is," Margaery said, unfazed by Tywin's icy demeanor. "You'll be wanting to meet with my grandmother. She's in the library. I'll take you there." She looked to Myrcella. "And Myrcella. Very nice to see you again. I'm glad you could come and visit."

"I'm glad to be here," Myrcella said with a genuinely bright smile. Margaery's charms won her over easily. "This is Beth Rivers. She's my bodyguard."

"Pleased to meet you," Margaery offered her a quick nod. Arya could see the light of curiosity passing through her eyes, wondering how someone like Arya could be a bodyguard. But she was one of the first not to voice their confusion. Instead, she gestured for them to follow her toward the library.

The library was one of the most impressive rooms Arya had ever entered. It was two stories and its shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, carved from beautiful white wood and filled to the brim with more books than Arya could read in a lifetime. There was a piano at one end of the long room and enough seats to host a party. And in the center at a single table sat Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns herself.

Every head of the notable families in Westeros had a certain presence. But Olenna Tyrell was one of the few who could match Tywin Lannister's reputation for intimidation. When she was young, she was known to ruthlessly bully the competition out of their holdings and absorb them into her own organization. She stepped down from her place as CEO a few years ago and passed the position to her son Mace. But everyone knew that she was still the one pulling the strings.

She was probably the only one who could command enough respect to draw Tywin Lannister onto _her _turf rather than going to him. And she smirked when she saw him, not a bit rattled. Arya found a wave of admiration for the woman surge through her. Oh, to be fearless and immovable. That would be something.

"Mr. Lannister. It's been some time since you've come to Highgarden."

"One year, I believe," he said, taking a seat in front of her. "I hope we won't waste too many minutes on pleasantries."

"Oh, of course not. You know I can't stand them." Olenna glanced at Myrcella who hovered nervously behind Margaery. "This is the granddaughter? She looks like her mother, doesn't she?"

"Yes, miss." Myrcella curtsied quickly. "They tell me so. It's nice to meet you."

"More polite than your mother," Olenna observed. Her sharp gaze flicked to Beth. "And you?"

"Beth Rivers," Arya said. "I'm Myrcella's bodyguard."

"Now that's something I didn't expect." Olenna looked her up and down. "I think I should enjoy talking to you later."

"I'm sure we would not want to distract Miss Rivers from doing her job," Tywin said.

"Oh, put yourself at ease, Lannister," Olenna said. "Highgarden is perfectly safe. I know the girl will be able to spare me one conversation." She tapped one of her gnarled fingers against the table. "Later though. There's business to attend to now. Margaery, you can show these girls around?"

"Yes, Grandmother," Margaery said. "Myrcella, Beth. Follow me. We'll leave them to their important work."

Myrcella nodded, fluttering after Margaery and Arya followed shortly behind. In all honesty, she would have _loved _to be a fly on the wall of this conversation. But then, it was not for Beth River's ears and it was not for Arya Stark's ears either.

She would have to content herself with the grounds then and pretend it was of no consequence to her what happened when two titans met.

* * *

The tour of the grounds took the better part of two hours. Margaery would have made a great tour guide if ever her modeling and acting career fell through. She was knowledgeable about every inch of the grounds and any question Myrcella asked, she could answer.

Arya kept her mouth shut, watching and listening as Beth would. Myrcella tried to engage her occasionally, but she kept her answers to a few words and the occasional smile. But Margaery had no intention of leaving Arya to herself.

"So how did you come into the profession of bodyguard?" she asked. "Seems a strange job, if you don't mind me saying. Very dangerous."

"I'm good under pressure," Arya replied. "And I'm good at self-defense. It seemed the best place for me to be."

"She's a lifesaver," Myrcella said. "Really. She actually saved my life."

"Yes, I heard that you had a frightening encounter," Margaery said, placing a hand on Myrcella's shoulder. "It is difficult for women like us. Sometimes men think they have permission to attack for no reason."

"Have people attacked you?" Myrcella asked.

"Oh yes. Many times," Margaery said. "But like you, I have good bodyguards. And no one would dare as long as I'm here. It's my home. One of the safest places in the world. And you'll be safe here too."

Myrcella smiled and Arya could see some of her nervous energy fading away.

"I'm excited for the wedding," Myrcella said. "Ever since the invitations went out a few months ago, I've been counting the days. I'm sure you are too."

"Oh yes," Margaery said. "It's every girl's dream... their wedding. I'm looking forward to it."

She was lying. It was a convincing lie with a convincing smile. But Arya could see right through it. She knew she shouldn't ask, and yet, curiosity pushed her forward. "How did you meet Renly Baratheon?"

Margaery glanced back at her over her shoulder, surprised by the question. Arya put on a look of sheepishness. "Sorry. It's not my business to pry."

"No, no," Margaery said. "It's fine. I met him through my brother. The two of them are good friends and... Well, I just found him so charming." She turned to face them, continuing her pace backwards. "We got engaged rather quickly, you may have noticed, but we knew each other for a while before we were engaged. So don't let the tabloids tell you otherwise. We're both very excited."

Most of that was a lie, and it told Arya what she already suspected: this wasn't a love match. The Tyrells were trying to align themselves with the Baratheons. She wished she knew the significance of that, but she had been away from King's Landing for too long and she had never been a student of the various economic alliances. She would have to ask someone later.

She _did _know that the Tyrells were one of the few families who could rival the Lannisters in terms of wealth. They were currently aligned with them, which made the job harder for the Starks. But what if the Tyrells ever broke away and become a rival instead? She imagined Tywin was trying to avoid that eventuality. Nothing else could have brought him out to the Reach to discuss business with this woman in person.

Arya didn't know if a Tyrell and Baratheon alliance would be bad or good for her own family. She supposed it wouldn't matter in the long run. She wouldn't be in Westeros long enough to see how the chips fell. She was only watching them drop.

* * *

Olenna Tyrell was a shrewd woman who had earned the title 'Queen of Thorns' from the moment she joined the Tyrell family many decades ago. Some said that she picked her husband for his money rather than his personality, but Tywin disagreed. She had picked her husband for his power in the Westerosi economy. And then she had practically doubled the Tyrell's reach over the course of her lifetime. In fact, their growth only seemed to accelerate once her husband was dead, almost as if he had slowed her down.

Her power in the Tyrell family was a blessing and a curse to them. Her son was a fool and could not keep the company afloat without her. Her grandchildren showed little promise as leaders though they made good followers. The one exception was her granddaughter Margaery Tyrell. Tywin suspected that she would be the real power in the Tyrell family once Olenna was gone.

And perhaps that was what made her marriage to Renly Baratheon so... suspect. Tywin had his doubts from the moment he heard it announced.

"Well, the contract seems acceptable," Olenna said, flipping until the end. "Though I suppose by now, we've learned that we can't pull the wool over each other's eyes."

"That we have," Tywin said. "At least on paper."

"Are you accusing me of unscrupulous business practices?" Olenna asked. "Or are you confessing?"

"Neither," Tywin said. "I am interested in your granddaughter's upcoming wedding."

"Are you?" Olenna said. "Forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem like a 'wedding' kind of person."

"It's more the intent behind them that intrigues me," Tywin said. "After all, Renly Baratheon belongs to a family that has been in league with the Starks for some time. It could cause conflicts."

"Why should it?" Olenna asked. "Stannis is in charge of the company and will be for some time. He's a younger man than either of us. Renly has some say but it should not cause problems."

Tywin studied her. Olenna Tyrell was good at many things, but playing innocent was not one of them. "Well, let's say for a moment that Renly gained control of the company, in a hypothetical scenario. It would open the way for an alliance between the Baratheons and the Tyrells. And perhaps, by default, the Starks."

"An interesting hypothetical," Olenna said. "But have you considered that maybe this is just a story of two young people in love?"

"I'm afraid I haven't," Tywin said.

"And even if it wasn't," Olenna said. "Have you considered that this has nothing to do with the Starks or with the Lannisters? It could just be something for our own interests."

Yes, he had considered that. What if the Tyrell chose to rise above the Starks, Lannisters and Baratheons—to where they no longer needed any alliances—then break off any further contracts with the Lannisters?

"You might find yourself fighting a war on two different fronts in that case," Tywin said. "Are you prepared for that?"

"Spoken like a true veteran," Olenna said. "We're not at war anymore, Tywin. This is business. And we all know that between the contracts and alliances, we're fighting to climb on top of each other. There's no need for us to lie about that."

"No, you're right," he said. "About the facade of the contracts and alliances at least. But you're also wrong. It is a war. It just uses different weapons. You are welcome to try your hand at it if you're ever inclined. Hypothetically."

Olenna inclined her head. "It would be ambitious. But at the end of the day, do you know what people need most, beyond any luxury item or technology?" She leaned forward slightly. "Food. The Baratheons understand that just like we do."

Yes. And that was one way the Starks and Lannisters fought each other on equal grounds. They were each in an alliance with one of the top food producers in the country, evening them out. A movement from the Tyrells or the Baratheons could tip the balance.

Olenna shrugged, threading her fingers together. "It's not a problem, obviously. We have a contract. We're allies, Tywin." She smiled. "It's right there on paper."

_Yes. And one day you might not need said contract, _he thought.

The one saving grace was that Renly was not guaranteed anything. Stannis was a hard man and a shrewd businessman, and he would not trust Olenna Tyrell as far as he could throw her. He would consider his contracts with the Starks sacred. Once he retired, the company might not go to Renly. But unfortunately the other candidate was Joffrey, the son Robert wanted the company to pass to, and Joffrey was far less appealing than Renly to the shareholders for obvious reasons.

_I need to straighten that boy out soon, _he thought. _Even if I have to go through his mother to do it._

Because this was war, and he didn't have time for children who didn't take it seriously. And if Olenna Tyrell was going to play this game with him, he would show her why he earned his reputation.

* * *

Brienne would almost feel bad for being a part of something like this... if it wasn't Janos Slynt. But she had decided from the moment she joined the police force that she hated the wretched little man. He was awfully short for someone who talked too much, and whenever he talked to her, it was to insult her competence and her abilities. The best policy was silence, but in this case, walking him into a possible altercation with Jaime Lannister seemed a nice change of pace.

She shouldn't be working with Jaime Lannister. He was off the force, and as a police officer, she was crossing a line. She shouldn't have taken help from him at all. But then, his finding that picture helped her with her investigation when no one else seemed to care. So perhaps this was paying a debt.

She also had a personal interest in this, having worked on the Arya Stark case. If someone paid off Janos Slynt to pull the records or falsify the reports, that was an offense that she could not let stand. It was her duty as a police officer.

Gods, she had been rationalizing it in her head all day, going back and forth about whether she should even go through with it. But then Janos Slynt walked in, saw her, and groaned. "Seven hells, I'm working with you again? I'll barely have space in the car."

Brienne's eyes narrowed slightly, and she checked her phone. Jaime had sent her an address of a nearby bar. She tapped back a reply.

_B: We'll be there shortly._

It was nice of Janos Slynt to ease her conscience.

* * *

"You're not usually one to suggest getting a drink before patroll, wench," Slynt said. It was the infernal nickname that many of the officers called her when their superiors weren't listening. Wench. Jaime had started that, and she was still inclined to blame him for it, despite his recent help. "Too stiff for that."

"Perhaps I need one to endure working with you for the next few hours," Brienne said flatly, parking in front of the bar. "We won't stay long. One beer. Nothing more."

"And now you sound like my mother," Slynt said. "She wasn't pretty either."

_And she passed that on to you, _Brienne thought. But she kept it down. Her role tonight was the good cop.

They entered the bar and Slynt walked right up to the counter without glancing around at his surroundings. If he had, he might have noticed Jon Stark sitting off to one corner, sipping on a beer. He might have noticed Jaime leaning up against the wall near the jukebox. But he just ordered a beer and drank, unsuspecting.

Brienne glanced at Jaime, giving him a nod. And over he came.

"Slynt!" he said in a booming voice. "And Wench. It's good to see you."

"Lannister," Slynt looked up. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, drinking my pain away. Funny coincidence, isn't it? Us both being here." Jaime slid onto the stool next to him. "Are you two on duty?"

"Aye. Just started," Slynt said. "We'll be off soon enough."

"And you convinced Tarth to drink? That's quite a feat." Jaime pat him on the shoulder. "Listen, Slynt, I'm glad you're here. I was looking through some unsolved cases yesterday, and I wondered if you could help me out."

"Not sure I'm supposed to do that, Jaime," Slynt said.

"He's right," Brienne said. "It is against policy."

"Come now. You're not a stick in the mud like Tarth here, are you?" Jaime asked. "I know you don't mind breaking a few small rules."

Slynt sighed. "Fine. It depends on the help."

"Slynt-" Brienne said in a warning tone.

"Fuck off, wench," Slynt said. "I told you before, you're not my mother, didn't I?"

Brienne fell silent, but she noticed Jaime give her a wink over Slynt's head before he turned back to face him.

"Good man," Jaime said. "Now, it's about the Arya Stark case."

Brienne watched Slynt's face carefully, and she saw how his expression froze at the mention. "The Stark case? What about it?"

"Well, I have some copies back at my apartment," Jaime said. That fact seemed to make Slynt nervous too. He shifted back and forth. "But it's not the complete file. I wanted to compare the Stark girl file with the Stark father file. In case they're connected, no? I would appreciate you sending me a few copies."

"I can't do that," Slynt said. "Helping you is one thing but... I wouldn't want to give out our old files."

_And because they're not there, _Brienne thought. _And you know it._

"Of course not, of course not," Jaime said. "Maybe you can just answer a small question then. You're the one who found Arya Stark's body, right?"

"I am," Slynt said.

"And did you take it to the coroner? To determine cause of death and all that?"

"Aye. Nasty business," Slynt said.

"And then you wrote up the file yourself?"

"That was my job, yeah. I worked the case, so I did the paperwork."

"Good, good. That's what I figured," Jaime said. "So here's my question, Slynt. Why did you lie about the body?"

Janos Slynt swallowed hard, and he studied Jaime closely. "I... what?"

"The body," Jaime said. "It wasn't Arya Stark. So why did you say it was?"

There was panic on the man's face, and the question surprised Brienne too. She hadn't heard that detail about it not being Arya Stark's body. How could Jaime be so sure of that? If it was a bluff, it had worked. Janos Slynt looked like a criminal caught in the act and he was already sliding off the stool to make a quick exit.

Jon stood in his way before he could.

"You should finish your drink, Slynt," the boy said coolly. "We have a few more questions."

"Stark. What are you doing here?" Slynt asked.

"I want to know where the files on my cousin and uncle went," Jon said. "Because they're not there. And you know where they are."

"Tarth," Slynt looked to her. "We need to go on patrol. We don't have time for this. Get these two away from me."

"Apologies, Slynt," Brienne said. "But I'm rather interested in the answers to their questions as well. Did you remove those files?"

Slynt didn't reply. He glanced between the three people surrounding him—two officers and one former officer—trying to find some escape.

"Removing police files makes one look a little guilty," Jaime said. "Did you kill some girl and pass her off as Arya Stark to cover your tracks?"

"No! No nothing like that. I haven't killed a soul," Slynt said. "Someone paid money for me to falsify the results. And someone paid money for me to remove those files."

"Who?" Jon asked.

"I didn't know their name or their face," Slynt said. "They used two different numbers so it could have been two different people, but they both used a voice distorter. I couldn't tell you the first thing about them. That's the truth."

"Say we believe you," Jaime said. "Why would they want you to falsify the coroner's report and pull those files?"

"They didn't tell me," Slynt said. "They told me where to find the body and insisted that I have it identified as Arya Stark. I thought it was just some rich kid trying to cover up some terrible mistake."

"A rich guy?" Brienne asked. "What makes you think it's a rich kid?"

"Might not be. They were just... nervous on the phone. Jumpy. They snapped when I asked questions," Slynt said. "Like someone who was terrified to get caught. And obviously they had a lot of money to spend on erasing their mistakes. So yeah... some rich kid."

"I don't think murder counts as a 'rich kid' mistake," Jaime said.

"And I don't think you have to be a kid to be nervous about murder," Brienne said.

"I told you I don't know, didn't I?" Slynt snapped.

"Yes. You told us," Jon said. "Do you have the numbers? We'll take both of them."

Slynt shook his head. "I can't... give you that. If they found out I gave you the number-"

"They won't find out. But even if they did." Jaime's grip tightened on his shoulder. Brienne could see Slynt wince from the grip. "I want you to think carefully and ask yourself: are you more afraid of this mystery client of yours? Or my father?"

Janos Slynt went white as a sheet at the thought of dealing with Tywin Lannister himself. "All right," he said. "All right, I'll give you the number. But you didn't get it from me."

"Of course not," Jaime said, letting his grip fall away. "We won't turn you into the mystery man. Selmy though. We're definitely reporting you to Selmy."

"Absolutely," Jon said. "We're going to call him right now before he leaves the station and tell him we have something important to discuss."

Slynt tried to back away again but Brienne grasped him by the back of his collar. "Yes. We are. Get to the car Slynt, or I'll cuff you and make you. And trust me: you won't beat me in a contest of strength."

Slynt had wilted slightly under the pressure and he nodded once, beginning his walk toward the car with Jon walking just beside him. Brienne glanced at Jaime.

"You didn't tell me you suspected the body wasn't Arya. How did you know that?" she asked.

"Would you believe it was a hunch?" Jaime asked.

"No," Brienne said.

Jaime sighed. "Suppose not. I'll fill you in later. Deal with Slynt first."

She nodded once. "And what are you going to do with that number?"

"I suppose eventually... I'm going to have to call it," Jaime said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that you enjoyed some more plot advancing, particularly on the Jaime, Brienne and Jon side of things. And of course the Queen of Thorns. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	26. Coping Mechanisms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back. Hope everyone had a merry Christmas if they celebrate it or just a happy Wednesday. Couple of warnings for this chapter. It ends on a cliffhanger and also, Baelish is in it for a scene and he's very creepy. Enjoy!

No matter where she went or how tired she was, Arya kept up religiously with her morning exercises. Strength training, endurance training, flexibility, balance. And then: weapons. The gun, the knife, the staff. She cycled through all of them every day to make sure she was in peak shape. Her arm hadn't fully healed yet, but that was no excuse. She could do pushups now without reopening the wound at least.

She woke up at dawn often to have time to move through every exercise. She did not mind being up so early. It wasn't as if she slept well anymore. The fewer hours she spent fighting for sleep, the better. She had adapted to going without much rest.

She had adapted to going without a lot of things.

She tried to be discreet about her exercises, but apparently, Myrcella's room at Highgarden was close enough that she heard her moving about and knocked on the door.

"Beth, are you all right?"

Arya opened the door, only barely breathing heavily from her latest reps. "Fine. I'm sorry, I was training. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, rubbing the sleep from her eyes in a very unconvincing way. "No, no. I was up. That's why I heard you." She tilted her head to the side. "Training, huh? You must train a lot."

"As often as I can," Arya said. "It takes practice keeping your skills sharp."

"Right. Well, you're good at it." Myrcella shifted from foot to foot. "Beth... do you think maybe you could teach me any of this stuff?"

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"It's just that, I don't want to rely on you being around all the time," Myrcella rubbed a hand up and down her upper arm. "I want to feel safe even when you're gone, so I just thought... I should know a few small things, you know?"

Arya thought for a moment about the possible ramifications for teaching Myrcella how to fight. She would have to be more gentle than her teachers amongst the Faceless men. But Arya was reasonably sure she could manage that. Besides, Myrcella wasn't trying to become a master. She just wanted a few simple moves.

"Sure," she said at last. "Come in. I'll give you a few pointers."

Myrcella obeyed, slipping into the room and quickly closing the door behind her. Then she got into a stance, as if to show that she was prepared, which looked just a little funny when she was wearing a frilly white nightgown.

"All right. Good," Arya said. "Keeping your knees slightly bent will help center you. A low center of gravity is key, and you're not as short as me, so you have to try harder." She crossed her arms. "So say a man comes at you and you want him away. Where do you strike?"

"The face?" Myrcella said.

"The nose is a good option. But there's a better one. Right where it hurts," Arya said. "The groin."

"Oh. Right. It makes them all drop, doesn't it?"

"It sure does. And there's no reason you can't use that to your advantage." Arya said. "But let's go back to that 'hit them in the face' idea. If their nose is in range, don't just punch. You could break your knuckles that way. It's not like it is in the movies. Instead, use the heel of your hand. Like this." She demonstrated. "You could crack their nose with that, and anyone with a broken nose will be very disoriented."

Myrcella tried it out a few times and Arya corrected her form.

"Straighten your arm fully and strike harder. Don't be shy."

She obeyed, her brow furrowing into a fierce expression that made Arya smile. Fierce and Myrcella just did not go together. But the form was better at least.

"All right. Let's talk about elbow strikes next."

And that was how Arya found herself teaching Myrcella self-defense. Over the next hour she showed her several moves and taught her how to break out of holds from the front or behind. And she taught her how to disarm someone with a gun. That one took some doing because Myrcella was so nervous to have a gun pointed at her, but Arya showed her it was unloaded and couldn't possibly hurt her and that seemed to calm the girl down.

It wasn't a bad way to spend a morning, and Arya was happy to see Myrcella growing more confident with the moves. It would at least fend off any unsavory drunks and make her less reliant on her bodyguard.

_She'll need that, _Arya thought. _I won't be here for her forever._

"It's a lot to remember," Myrcella said. "What if a time comes and I don't know which moves to use?"

"You can keep practicing," Arya said. "A lot of it is muscle memory. That was how I could protect us that night, you know. My instincts took over and did the job for me. But that only came from religious practice."

"I'll practice then," Myrcella said. "Every morning. Just like you."

Arya smiled. "Well, you won't need as much practice as me. You just need the basics, miss."

"Right. You're advanced," Myrcella said. "Maybe once I master the basics you can teach me more?"

"Sure," Arya said after a pause.

_If I'm still around by then._

* * *

Tywin called Arya to him later that morning with what he called 'an update on the situation' which could have meant literally anything from a minuscule lead to the answer she had been searching for. But, as it turned out, it was something in the middle.

"Janos Slynt was the one who pulled your file from police records," he said. "Along with your father's file. And he's the one who falsified the coroner's report. He did it because someone paid him."

Arya felt a chill go through her. "Who?"

"He doesn't know their name. Or their voice, apparently. They distorted it when they spoke to him," Tywin said. "However, Jaime got the numbers. We'll call to see if those numbers are still active when we return."

"And when do we return?" Arya asked, suddenly feeling restlessness rise within her.

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "That said, I think it's best to leave Myrcella here. She does seem much better since she came to the Reach and I wouldn't want to return her to King's Landing so soon. The Baratheon-Tyrell wedding is only a month away anyhow. And Margaery Tyrell has always said that she wouldn't mind having Myrcella in the manor." He entwined his fingers together. "However..."

"There's the problem of Myrcella being attached to Beth," Arya said. "She may want me to stay."

"So convince her otherwise," Tywin said. "I'll intervene if I have to, obviously, but I have a feeling she'll take it better from you."

Arya sighed. "How will Cersei feel about this exactly?"

"That's none of your concern."

"I mean... it might be if she accuses me of leaving my post."

"You leave Cersei to me," Tywin said. "All of her employees are mine. And so are the final decisions. Unless _you _would like to stay here and remain uninvolved in this search for your father's killer?"

Arya sighed. "I'll go talk to her."

"Good. I'm happy to hear it."

_That's a lie. I don't think you're capable of happiness, _Arya thought. But she gave him a nod and turned, hurrying from the room.

She found Myrcella in the garden, taking in the roses. At the very least, it seemed she was confident enough to wander alone. Maybe that would make convincing her easier.

"Myrcella?"

Myrcella spun, clasping her hands together with a smile. She really was so consistently happy. Arya couldn't help but wonder how hard she tried to force her cheerful moods. She was one of those rare people who didn't smile to hide ill intent. She was just trying not to be a bother to anyone.

"Apparently you'll be staying in the Reach for a bit," Arya said.

"Oh yes, I heard that," Myrcella said. "You know I'm kind of excited. It's important to get away from the city every once in a while. And I'll be able to see the place transform as the wedding gets closer. Maybe make friends with Margaery."

"I'm sure you will," Arya said. "I needed to tell you though that I... can't stay. I need to leave to return with your grandfather tomorrow."

Myrcella's smile faltered for a moment. "Oh."

"His request," Arya said. "There's a certain matter that concerns me back in King's Landing and I need to be there. I hope you don't think I'm shirking my duties or abandoning you."

"I wouldn't think you're abandoning me," Myrcella said. "It just... makes me nervous. I know I survived for a while without you but... well, I have gotten very used to you, Beth."

"I guarantee you're safer without me here than with me in King's Landing," Arya said. "I'm not invincible, Myrcella, I want you to know that. What happened that night... it could have just as easily gone very wrong. We got lucky that the man shot at Phillip before he shot at you."

"That doesn't seem lucky for Phillip," Myrcella said.

"It's not," Arya said. "I'm just... trying to say that I don't always handle situations like that perfectly. So it's better to not have situations at all. This is the place to avoid situations. It's quiet, and no one gets on the grounds unless they have permission. Much better than the city."

"I suppose." Myrcella twisted her fingers together. "And... you taught me some ways to defend myself."

"Exactly," Arya said. "You'll be fine without me. And anyhow, I'll be back for the wedding without a doubt. Maybe sooner. You never know."

"Right." Myrcella nodded once. "I'll miss you though. Because I consider you a friend, Beth. Even if you're not supposed to be."

Arya allowed herself a small smile. "I consider you a friend too... Myrcella."

She was surprised that she meant it.

* * *

Sansa supposed she should be happier now that her sister was alive again. And she was. She was relieved, grateful, and every other expected emotion—if there even _were _expected emotions for such an unexpected event.

But it hadn't ended the ever present sadness handing over Sansa like a weighted blanket. It had given her a brief respite which lasted perhaps a day. And now it was back and heavy on her shoulders again.

She had been in and out of this cloud for the past three years, ever since her father died and sent her life spinning out of control. Back then, she had been under the mistaken delusion that terrible things happened to other people. But then her father died, Bran lost the use of his legs and Arya disappeared. Sansa, who had once been focused on the future, suddenly lost all interest in what was to come. How could she plan the future, really, when something could swoop in at any moment and wreck everything around her?

It wasn't as if she was always so sad. It came in waves. The spring and summer were usually good times for her, and she made the mistake in the warm months of thinking she was getting better and moving forward. Then autumn swept in again and reminded her of the losses of the past. Three years ago, her father. Two years ago, her sister. One year ago, her dog.

_But I haven't lost anything this year, _Sansa thought, running her finger around the edge of her drink. _I've gained something back. So I shouldn't feel this way._

But the sadness did not listen to her. It never did.

She tried to distract herself with going out with friends. Jeyne Poole and Mya Stone were always ready to go out drinking, and sometimes the bar hopping and the drinking helped to clear Sansa's head for a bit. It distracted her with strangers and that lightly buzzed sensation that made her feel like she was floating away. But it didn't last. It never lasted.

It was past midnight when Jeyne declared that she was bored with this bar and wanted to move on to one with more dancing. But at that point, Sansa had begun to crash, and all she wanted to do was sit exactly where she was, nursing her drink, staring off into space. She made up some excuse about calling it an early night and told them to go on without her. She would call a car. And they listened with little prying. They were too drunk to wait around, and Sansa knew that her autumn mood swings only dragged them down. They would have more fun without her.

She watched them leave the bar and saw Jeyne lean over to whisper in Mya's ear. She tried not to imagine that they were talking about her. About what a bore she had become. About how she was an anchor on their good time. Sansa didn't need to imagine it, she supposed. She knew what she was.

She returned to circling her finger along the rim of her glass. This really wasn't strong enough.

"I can get you something else," the bartender said. "If you don't like that one."

"You have anything stronger?" Sansa asked.

"Sure," the bartender said. "In fact, I have something special if you're willing to pay. It'll give you a 'long night'."

Sansa recognized the code word. She knew people who had done that drug. Hell, she knew people who had overdosed on it. They said it made you feel like you were a passenger in your own body. No pain. You did whatever you wanted—whatever your mind said you shouldn't do.

She had to admit it was tempting. She had the money, and she had never tried it before. But then if she tried it now, she didn't want to imagine what she would do with lowered inhibition, especially when she was alone.

_End up in the tabloids again, I'll bet, _she thought. She didn't want to embarrass her family like that. So she shook her head. "I'm not sure I want a long night. But I'll take another shot."

"Of what?"

"Surprise me."

The bartender nodded, pouring some clear liquor into a glass and sliding it over to her. She tipped back her head, draining it easily.

"Sansa, is that you?"

Sansa was vaguely aware of Petyr Baelish's voice coming from her right and she blinked hard, straining to make eye contact with him. It was hard when she was this drunk. "Mr. Baelish. What are you doing out so late?"

"I had some business in the area that went a little long," he said, with a smile. "And you know you can call me Petyr, don't you? Your mother calls me Petyr."

"I'm not my mother."

"I suppose not. You look a great deal like her."

She felt his hand resting on her upper back. Felt his thumb running circles along her spine. It made her shiver, but she didn't pull away.

"Did business go well?" she asked absently.

"Yes, well enough. Thought I'd celebrate with a drink before I turn in," Baelish said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

_You should know better than to offer, _Sansa thought. _The responsible person would tell me to go home. To not be out so late._

He must see how drunk she already was. But that didn't matter to him. He was perfectly happy to let her drink until she blacked out. Sansa toyed with the idea of refusing or accepting. She knew the smarter option in the back of her buzzed mind. And yet and yet...

_I wonder what he'll do._

So she nodded, and she found another drink in her hand. It wasn't very good, but she choked down a few swallows anyway, trying to keep up that buzz. So long as she was drunk, she didn't mind hearing him talk on and on about his business, and she could almost ignore his hand, which had drifted to the small of her back.

_It's not worth causing a scene, _she thought. _He won't go further. He's a friend of the family._

But even as she had the thought, she doubted it. Wasn't this the man who was always in love with her mother? And he saw Sansa as her spitting image. A second chance.

"Sansa," he said. "You seem quite drunk. I wouldn't want to leave you to get home alone."

She made a noncommittal hum in response.

"I have a car. I can take you home," he said gently, and she could feel his breath against her ear, coasting down her neck.

A shiver went through Sansa. No. No, this was a bad idea. She was too drunk for this.

"Baelish!" a loud voice said somewhere in the crowd. "I thought that was you. I didn't take you for a late night drinker."

The hands left Sansa in an instant as Petyr turned to speak to the newcomer. And suddenly there were new hands on her arm, gentle and kind, guiding her away from the bar.

"It's all right," a woman's voice said. "Come with me."

When Sansa blinked, she was standing in the women's bathroom, looking down at a pretty woman with wavy dark hair. She cupped Sansa's face between her hands.

"You're all right," the woman said. "We can stay here until that man leaves."

"Mr. Baelish?" Sansa blinked. "He was just..."

_Being himself. Letting his hands linger a little too long. Imagining me as my mother._

"I can handle him," she murmured at last. "I'm fine."

"He's a dangerous man," the woman said. "He would eat you alive if he could."

"What about you?" Sansa asked. "Are you dangerous?"

"Not to girls like you," the woman said with a wry smile. "I'm Shae."

"Shae," Sansa repeated her name. "Have I met you before? You seem familiar."

"You saw me with Tyrion Lannister a week ago," Shae said.

"Oh. Tyrion." Sansa blinked hard. Wait. That had been the voice that interrupted Baelish. "He's... here isn't he?"

"Yes. Talking with our friend Littlefinger. Giving you a chance to escape," Shae said.

"Littlefinger?" Sansa tilted her head to the side. "Is that what you call, Mr. Baelish?"

"That's what many of us call him," Shae said, though Sansa didn't know what she meant by 'us'. "And you're lucky that Tyrion noticed you, or else I wouldn't have seen _him _leering over you. But don't worry. You're safe now."

"He wouldn't hurt me," Sansa said. "He's a friend to my mother."

"I feel sorry for your mother." Shae sighed. "I suppose he may not have hurt you badly. You're a Stark, aren't you? You're important."

"So they say," Sansa murmured. "Thank you, though. For stepping in." She tilted her head to the side. "Are you... Tyrion's girlfriend?"

"Not quite," Shae said. "I am his friend though."

_What does 'not quite' mean, _Sansa wondered. She remembered the rumors about Tyrion paying women for company. Was this one of those women?

Shae's phone rang, and she checked it. "All right, he's gone. Come on now. We'll get you a way home."

Sansa let Shae guide her from the bathroom and back into the chaos of the bar. She spotted Tyrion sitting up on the stool where Petyr Baelish used to be and he smiled when he saw her.

"Ah, Miss Stark. Lovely to see you again."

"Is it?" Sansa asked. "You always seem to see me when I'm a mess."

"The same goes for you seeing me," Tyrion said. "Except that's not a challenge because I'm always a mess." He leaned forward in his seat, his expression turning serious. "Are you all right? Shae was concerned about Baelish's proximity to you."

"He was just being himself," Sansa murmured. "I'm fine."

"Other than being drunk," Shae said. "And alone after midnight."

"I had friends with me," Sansa said. "But they left. I told them to leave."

"No sense staying out and drinking alone then," Tyrion said. "We'll take you home. I have a driver nearby."

"You don't have to trouble yourself," Sansa said. "I can call a driver."

"Well, mine is closer," Tyrion said. "Please, Sansa. You refused my first offer. I insist that you take up my second one."

Sansa swallowed hard. She did not know Tyrion very well, but she supposed if he wanted to take advantage of her, he could have done so a week ago when she passed out at his party. So instead she nodded. "All right... thank you. I'll repay you later."

"There's no need for that. I'm not my father," Tyrion said. "This is a favor that comes free of charge."

_Nothing really comes free, _Sansa thought cynically, but she didn't voice that opinion. She was still reluctant to trust a Lannister, but if he meant her harm...

Well, the sad thing was, she couldn't bring herself to care.

* * *

Sansa had the car drop her off at the end of the driveway, passing a quick thank you to Tyrion and Shae. Her head had cleared a bit though she knew she was a long way from sobriety, and she could make it to the door just fine on her own. She tried to open it as quietly as possible so she could slip up to her room without being seen. But it wasn't to be. The moment she closed the door, Robb appeared from the parlor, phone in hand.

"I've been calling," he said.

"Oh." Sansa checked her phone. Dead again. "Sorry. I need to get a new one. This one can't hold a charge anymore."

"It's not the phone that bothers me," Robb said. "It's... this again. Every autumn you do this. You go out every night, you stay out until early morning. Sometimes you're _alone, _which means anyone could easily take advantage of you. I don't understand _why_. After what happened to Arya, why?"

Sansa brushed back her hair, studying the tile at her brother's feet. She was still too tipsy to handle eye contact with him. Especially when he was angry. "Nothing happened to Arya though. We know that now. She's alive. She's fine."

"She's not fine," Robb said. "Yes, she's alive. But someone took her, Sansa. They kept her for years. That's still not something to risk. You can't put mother through losing a child again."

"I'm not lost," Sansa said, heading for the stairs. "I always come home. I always have. Three years. We're both adults. You can let me manage my own choices."

"They're terrible choices," Robb said.

"Then that's my business too." Sansa snapped. As if she didn't know they were terrible. She did. She always had. She was stupid, and she did stupid things for a quick fix to help her feel something good again. She just... didn't know how to stop it.

She exhaled, her grip tightening on the bannister. "This is my way of keeping busy."

"Going out drinking and not telling your family where you are?" Robb asked.

"Sure," Sansa said. "You're a workaholic who spends more time at the office than at home. I go out drinking and make terrible choices in men." She glanced over her shoulder. "We all have our shitty coping mechanisms, Robb. Let's leave it at that."

Then she dragged herself up the stairs without waiting for his retort.

She understood his anger. She was also furious at herself. But no one in her family had handled the last three years _well_. Her mother bottled everything and forced herself into emotionally charged situations to avoid appearing weak. Robb worked long hours because if he slowed down, he would feel that awful, helpless sensation creeping back in. Bran gathered dirt on other people to make himself feel better about his loss. Rickon got in fights all the time, because he wanted to be strong enough next time to stop the horrible loss. Sansa drank and partied and let herself drift into shitty relationships because it was better than being alone.

And Arya? Fuck... Arya just disappeared. Maybe someone took her, but it wasn't like they had snatched her from the school. She had packed a bag and planned to leave. To go off on some strange journey of self-discovery, and it went very badly.

Sansa didn't hate her for it. She knew she had no room to judge her. Because every person in her family was just barely keeping it together—shattered porcelain vases pretending they were whole for the cameras.

* * *

Arya could not, for the life of her, discern Tywin's mood the morning they boarded the train back to King's Landing. Not that she could ever discern his mood, but she was curious about whether his meeting with Olenna Tyrell had gone well or not. Not that she had an _interest _in business, necessarily, but she knew that when the Lannisters moved, the rest of the King's Landing economy moved with them. And the Starks were part of that economy, combatting the Lannisters as much as they could. If her family was about to get hit, she wanted to know.

But she wasn't entirely sure that things were going well for the Lannisters either. Olenna Tyrell did not seem like a woman to keep allies past their use. And this marriage between Margaery and Renly. Arya really had no idea what to think of it and it was driving her mad.

_It doesn't matter, _she told herself. _You're Beth Rivers, and the economic situation in Westeros means nothing to you._

But seven hells, who was she kidding? She hadn't really been Beth Rivers since Tywin Lannister called her by her true name a few weeks ago.

Against her better judgment, as she stood outside of Tywin's compartment, she slid open the door.

"May I ask a question, sir?"

He looked up from some papers, eyebrow raised. "You just did."

Arya exhaled. "May I ask a _series _of questions, sir?"

He regarded her for a long moment, as if weighing the options in his mind. Then he nodded and gestured for her to enter the compartment. She did, sitting down across from him.

"The Renly and Margaery match," she said. "It's not a love marriage, right?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question based on your tone," Tywin said. "No. It's not a love marriage. Renly Baratheon is far more likely to have an inclination toward Loras Tyrell if the rumors are true."

Arya nodded once. "What is the purpose then? I know it's some sort of business arrangement but... why?"

Tywin tapped two fingers against his papers. "What do you think the use could be? Based on what you know of the major families in King's Landing."

Arya's brow furrowed. "I'm asking you because I don't know."

"You're asking me because you have suspicions and you want to see if you're right," Tywin said. "So tell me what you think."

"Well..." Arya threaded her fingers together, trying to gather her thoughts. This felt like a test somehow. Why did it feel like a test? "I know my father did a lot of business with Robert Baratheon. He exclusively used his manufacturing technology in his factories. So the Baratheons haven't done much business with the Lannisters. Not even when your daughter was married to him. When Robert died, Stannis took over, and he kept up that agreement. But the Tyrells have primarily used the Lannisters for their tech, I think. The Tyrells and Baratheons are competitors and they use two competitors for their factories. So usually they're not friendly with each other... right?"

"Correct," Tywin said. "They work in the same industries. The Baratheons deal more in meat products in the Tyrells more in crops, but there is a great deal of crossover. Any profits that the Tyrells make take away from the Baratheons and vice versa."

"And if the Baratheon's do well, the Starks benefit," Arya said. "And the Lannisters benefit with the Tyrells."

"In a rudimentary sense, yes," Tywin said.

"Rudimentary is all I've got. I never finished school," Arya said. "All right then so... it is strange that a Baratheon and a Tyrell would marry. But I guess it doesn't completely throw off the system because Renly Baratheon isn't in charge of the company now. That's Stannis, and he wouldn't break a contract with the Starks."

"You're right," Tywin said. "So long as Stannis remains in charge, so does the current status quo."

"And as soon as he doesn't, my family takes a loss no matter what happens," Arya said.

Tywin tilted his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"If Renly takes over, he's on the side of the Tyrells. They could absorb the Baratheons completely if he lets them," Arya said. "And if Joffrey takes over... well he's yours, obviously. He won't care about upholding any contracts with the Starks."

Tywin didn't confirm or deny that. "It could become an issue for your family. I'm sure your brother is already thinking of how to counter that eventuality. Though unless the board removes Stannis, he should remain in his position for a while yet."

"But if Renly took over," Arya said. "That would be bad for you."

"Would it?" Tywin asked. Arya was beginning to hate asking him questions. He did the same thing as Jaqen: forced Arya to come up with the answers for herself. Sometimes she wanted to have a conversation that wasn't a test.

"Yes," Arya said. "Renly doesn't have loyalties to the Starks or the Lannisters. But if the Tyrells have him then...they would get much more powerful... right? And then they might not need so many allies."

Tywin studied her. "Been thinking about this a lot, have you?"

"Am I right?" Arya asked.

"That the Tyrells are a danger for both the Starks and the Lannisters if their holdings continue to rise? Yes," Tywin said. "And Renly could help them do that. Joffrey, as you've mentioned is the alternative."

"Yes, and he's..." Arya trailed off, wondering if she was allowed to insult Tywin's grandson.

"Terrible," Tywin said. "Yes. Hopefully, I can cure him of that long before Stannis steps down. For now, he's young and stupid. He needn't stay that way forever."

No. Joffrey had the potential to grow up, she supposed, but Arya wasn't sure he would ever grow a conscience or become a good person. Not that a conscience was a necessity of the business world. Tywin was doing fine without one.

"Despite your lack of schooling, you have a gift for reading the situation," Tywin said, returning to his papers. "Perhaps you can find some solution for your family's problem by the time it becomes an issue. If you were to attend school for it."

Arya looked down at her hands. "I'm... not sure I can."

"Why not?" he asked.

_Because I'm a Faceless Man. Because all of this is temporary and once I am finished here, I will leave again. I will hurt my family again... and that's your fault. You made me go back to them._

But she didn't say any of that. She just shrugged and stood. "I should get back to my post."

He didn't stop her, but once again, she could sense him scrutinizing her closely, trying to peel back the shell of her lies with his gaze. If she lingered for too long in his path, she knew all those lies would fall apart and leave behind only the terrible truth.

She reached for the door, but was thrown a bit off balance as the train suddenly slowed to a halt. She glanced back at Tywin.

"We shouldn't be stopping yet."

"No," he said, looking out the window. "We shouldn't."

"_Attention," _a voice crackled over the speakers above. _"We apologize for the interruption. This train is now under the control of the Brotherhood without Banners."_

Arya's eyes widened. The Brotherhood without Banners. The extremist group in the Riverlands. They had the train, and Arya knew it must be with some purpose. They were known for fighting against the wealthy elite of Westeros.

And that meant Tywin Lannister would be a target. And Arya had given their itinerary to the Faceless Men.

_Opportunities will be provided, _the Waif had said. Irritation rolled through Arya.

_Son of a bitch._

All at once, she felt something snap into place in her mind. This was survival. This was another test, and she would pass it. She let out a breath, letting the first instant of panic slip away. Then she looked back to Tywin.

"All right. I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, next chapter we deal with a train hijacking (for those of you who wanted action) so it should be fun. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	27. The Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a little early since I've got places to be. Time for a fun action chapter with lots of Arya fighting and Tywin being his intimidating self. Hope you enjoy!

When Arya slipped into the car next to Tywin's, she found the other three bodyguards checking their weapons to make sure they were loaded. She, meanwhile, snatched her bag from the top rack, quickly rooting through to find a floral blouse she had borrowed from Myrcella.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Clegane asked.

"Trust me," Arya said. "This is the one situation where being five foot nothing and a woman has an advantage." She stripped to her undershirt and slipped on the blouse over it. It was still breezy enough that it hid Arya's holster with her gun and her knives. "Between the two of us, which do you think the Brotherhood without Banners will see as a threat?"

"Me. Obviously," Clegane said.

"And would you expect someone who looks like me to be on the security team for Tywin Lannister?" Arya asked, adjusting her red hair.

Clegane sighed. "No."

"Good. Then trust me." Arya took her place by the door. "When they come, don't show yourselves. Leave it to me."

"Are we sure they're coming for our car?" Trant asked.

"Mr. Lannister is the most valuable person on this train. The Brotherhood has a reputation for striking at people with money," Clegane said. "Let's assume they're coming for him."

Arya checked her gun to make sure it was loaded before hiding it in the holster at her back and adjusting the blouse over it. "What's our policy on how to handle terrorists? Do we take them alive?"

"Use your own discretion," Clegane said. "The main priority is keeping them away from Mr. Lannister. If you have to drop them, do it."

"Understood." She slid one of her knives into her pocket. Easily accessible, and not all that strange for a young woman travelling alone to carry. She took a deep breath and steadied herself before glancing back at Clegane.

"All right. See you in a minute."

She stepped out into the hall, hurrying over to the door and peering through the small window. She had a visual of the next car, filled with other wealthier patrons of the line. There was a stir inside caused by the announcement. She saw the opposite door opened and a man with a gun entered. Then a second. A third. They were demanding 'contributions' to their cause, and the people were quick to offer their belongings to avoid a bullet.

_I can handle three, _Arya thought. _I just need the element of surprise._

She stepped back a few paces from the door. Then she let her posture shift. Her back hunched, and she clutched at her chest with one hand. She let tears rise inside her, streaming from her eyes and making her shoulders tremble. Her breathing became unsteady. Panicked even. She was not Arya Stark, and she was not Beth Rivers. She was just an ordinary girl on the verge of a panic attack.

The compartment door opened. Arya looked up through blurred eyes to see the man entering hesitate—a normal reaction, she supposed, to seeing a crying girl. And that hesitation was what she needed. She rushed toward him.

"Help me, please," she gasped out. "I need your help."

The man lowered his gun, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, easy there. What happened?"

There was a kindness in his voice and Arya almost regretted what she was about to do.

"They tried to take me," she gasped out. "These men tried to take me while I was wandering around the train. Please help me. I'm travelling alone and I—"

"What are you doing?" one of the others entered behind him. "We have to keep moving. The job isn't over yet."

"This girl needs help. She says someone tried to abduct her."

"We weren't _hired_ to save an abducted girl."

Arya glanced around as they were talking, taking in the room. Yes. Still three. No doubt there were more, but three she could handle. Especially since all of their guns had lowered. Two of them had their backs turned... and that was all the opening she needed.

She slid her knife from her pocket and drew the blade sharply across the back of the first man's knees. He dropped, and she jabbed him hard in the neck, knocking him unconscious. The second man's eyes widened, and he started to raise his gun again. Too slow. She brought her knife across his hands, weakening his grip and giving her the chance to knock the gun from his grasp. The heel of her hand smashed against his windpipe and he gasped for air.

By now, the third man had his gun ready to fire. Arya's grip tightened on the front of his companion's shirt, using him like a shield. It gave her enough time for her to draw her gun rest it on the second man's shoulder. She fired twice and the man on the other side cried out in pain. Then, before the second man could recover from the windpipe, she spun and slammed him to the ground, knocking him out cold.

She looked around the hallway, searching for any sign of movement. Two were unconscious. The one she had shot would be dead soon. One of her bullets caught him in the throat and he was gurgling helplessly. She put a bullet between his eyes to make it quicker.

Her whole body buzzed with adrenaline, but she knew the job wasn't over. She knelt down beside one of the unconscious guards, rummaging through his pocket. They had to have some way to communicate, and as terrorists, they wouldn't use cell phones. They had to have some kind of radio.

Clegane, meanwhile, had opened the door and stepped out into the hall, looking over the damage. "Well, fuck."

"Two of them are just unconscious," Arya said. "Restrain them somehow and take their guns." She found the radio. "Ah. Good." She paced to the other end of the hallway, whipping up a few tears again as she pressed down on the button.

"H-hello? Is anyone there?"

There was a long pause. Then: _"Who's this? Who are you?"_

"My name's Mary. I-I got this radio from a man's pocket. There are two others back here. Oh gods, I think they're dead."

"_Mary, calm down,"_ the voice replied. _"Did you see what happened?"_

"There are guys with guns," she mumbled. "A bunch of them. Th-they shot them. I'm scared, please help me."

"_How many are there?"_

"I-I'm not sure. Maybe only a few. H-How many do you have? Do you have enough?"

"_I have five more that can come your way."_

"All right, please hurry," she said. "I... Wait. _Wait." _She let out a panicked cry and shot her gun toward the back of the car before releasing the button. Then she stood, smoothing back her hair. "Five more coming."

"Seven hells," Clegane said. "Go to acting school recently?"

_Not exactly, _Arya thought. She reloaded her gun. "It's not that hard to fake tears, you know. You just think about all the terrible things that have happened in your life and go from there." She sat down on the ground at the far end of the car and slipped her gun under her blouse. When she hunched over, it looked like she had been shot and was desperately clutching her middle to keep the life from spilling out. "Hide in the compartments. They'll see me and the bodies first when they enter. You'll have an element of surprise."

"Right." Clegane snapped his fingers at Trant and the other bodyguard. "In the compartment. Turn off the lights."

"Seriously?" Trant asked. "Are we taking orders from her now?"

"You take orders from me," Clegane said. "And she just dropped three guys on her own, so yes, you can take orders from her too."

Trant's eyes narrowed, but he didn't protest a second time. He and the other man ducked into the compartment and turned off the lights. Clegane cast Arya a glance before following suit.

Arya let out a breath, curling in on herself more, conjuring up memories of previous injuries. She had been kicked in the stomach before. She had been stabbed in the stomach. It was easy to remember the searing pain... the feeling of being near death. She squeezed a few tears from her eyes and made her breathing weak and unsteady. But all the while, she kept her grip on her gun.

For a long time, there was silence. The silence of waiting. She heard a commotion in the other car and knew it was almost time. She peered up past her red bangs, watching the door. It opened, and the Brotherhood entered.

First, they saw the bodies on the ground. Then they saw her, sitting on the other end of the car, clutching her stomach. The one at the front quickly stepped over the bodies and moved toward her.

She drew her gun and fired without thinking about it first. The first bullet caught him in the hand, causing him to drop his gun. The second took him in the knee, bringing him down. And by the time the others realized what was happening, Clegane had emerged from the compartment.

In a narrow hall already clogged with multiple dead and unconscious bodies, it was chaos, and the Brotherhood were at a severe disadvantage. Off guard and stumbling over the bodies of their comrades, they were no match for the three other bodyguards as they advanced. But then, everyone had to be careful of firing off their guns in such a tight space. They could accidentally hit an ally. Arya kept her gun down but at the ready for that exact reason.

Then one of the Brotherhood slipped around Clegane in the chaos, aiming his gun right for her. Arya's eyes widened, and she threw herself to the side.

The bullet sliced through Arya's shoulder instead of her chest, but the momentum still made her stumble. She hit the ground hard and her gun spun away from her. It was a bad time for that to happen, because the man who shot her was almost on top of her—gun in hand and murder in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she fumbled for her knife. Too slow. She was too slow. A slow and stupid girl.

There was a sharp _bang _as the gun went off, and Arya flinched, waiting for the pain. Instead, she saw blood spray from the side of the terrorist's head and splatter across the wall of the car. He crumpled to the ground just beyond Arya's feet. She looked up to see Tywin stepping out of his compartment, gun in hand.

_Why does it keep surprising me he has a gun? _she thought weakly.

For a moment, she saw the soldier in him. The man who had killed many people in war. The man who Clegane had warned her about. He hadn't flinched at killing a man.

Though, then again, neither had she. That was how they had been trained.

His gaze turned from the dead man to her, looking her over. "You're all right?"

She nodded once.

"Good." He turned toward Clegane. The other members of the Brotherhood were dead or unconscious, except for one who Clegane had on the ground, arm twisted behind his back. He was struggling, but stilled when Tywin approached.

"Is there anyone else from the Brotherhood on the train?" he asked.

"No," the man muttered. "No one."

"Lying isn't in your best interest," Tywin said. "We've killed some of your other companions. I have no qualms about sending you to join them."

The man's lips pulled back in a sneer. "No, you wouldn't would you? After all the things you've done to keep your business ahead? After what you did in the war?"

Tywin was unmoved by the accusation. "You have at least one man at the front of the train, I'm sure. Keeping the conductor hostage. Unless the conductor is also in on it. Do you have anyone else?"

"Fuck you."

Another gunshot split the silence. The bullet took off most of the man's right ear and he screamed in pain.

"If you're going to be unhelpful, I'll settle for your radio. I assume you have one?" Tywin asked. The man didn't reply. He was still moaning in pain. "Clegane. Help the man find his radio."

The Hound did, pinning the man to the ground and searching his back pockets. He came up with a small radio and Tywin took it from his hand. A crackling voice came through the speaker.

"_What's going on back there? What happened?"_

"You sent several men to my private car, hoping to detain me," Tywin replied. "Or at least that's my assumption."

There was a long pause. Then:

"_Am I speaking to Tywin Lannister?"_

"You are," Tywin said. "I'd like to speak to you in person. If I were to guess, there's only a handful of you left at the front. I'd stake my money on my men over yours."

"_That's a lot of money,"_ the man replied.

"Well, they've already dealt with eight of your people," Tywin said. "I like my chances."

"_Can they deal with ten more?"_

"Bluffing won't get you anywhere with me," Tywin said. "But whether you have two or ten... yes. They'll deal with it. Don't bother sending your people to me. Mine will come to you."

"_We'll shoot the conductor if you do."_

"Oh, I doubt that. The Brotherhood without Banners tries not to take the lives of bystanders," Tywin said. "And even if you did... do you think that would stop me?"

His earlier words about calling bluffs drifted through Arya's head. _Better to have a winning hand. _And Tywin did. He knew it. The man on the other end of the radio knew it. He couldn't bluff against a man who knew his power.

"If the train does not start in the next minute, I'm sending my people up to the front of the train," Tywin said calmly. "If you don't want to join your friends in a jail cell or a grave, I recommend cutting your losses. Goodbye." He tossed the radio away without waiting for a response.

There was a long silence as everyone waited, filled only by the pained gasps of the man on the ground. Then, thirty seconds later, the train began to move again.

Tywin glanced at Clegane. "Secure the ones who aren't dead. We'll let the police have them when we return to the station. Once you're done with that head to the front compartment. Just in case our other friends in the Brotherhood haven't left the train."

"Yes sir," Clegane said. He motioned for the others on the security team to help him with the cleanup.

Tywin put away his gun and returned to Arya who had not dared move from her spot on the floor. Her left arm was bleeding steadily from a bullet wound and she knew if she tried to stand, she would black out. He nodded at the wound.

"You have an interesting definition of fine, Miss Rivers."

"It's nothing," Arya muttered. "A minor graze."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should stand."

Arya winced. "The floor is very comfortable, actually."

"Is it now?" Tywin sighed, offering her a hand. "Come on."

She hesitated for a moment before accepting his help and let him pull her to her feet. She swayed as black spots danced across her vision, but he steadied her and guided her back into the compartment. She collapsed gratefully into her seat, taking a deep breath. At least she wasn't passing out this time.

Moment later, she felt him press a water bottle into her hand and she drank deeply. "Can you... get my bag? I have bandages in there. And needle and thread."

"Needle and thread?" He raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend to stitch this up yourself?"

"I've done it before," she said. "Only thing that makes it hard is the angle."

"Let's stick with bandages for now," Tywin said. "Qyburn can see to you when we return. We're close to King's Landing now."

Arya nodded once, closing her eyes again as Tywin left the compartment to fetch her bag. She listened to the sound of the door and the creak of his shoes on the floorboards as he left. When he returned, he sat beside her.

"Are you still conscious, Miss Stark?" he asked, setting the bag in her lap.

She nodded once. "Yeah. Just... light headed." She fumbled blindly through her bag until she found the roll of bandages. He took them from her before she could stop him. "Hey. Its fine. I can do it."

"You're barely keeping your eyes open. You'll do a terrible job it you try," he said, unloading the bandages. "I'll handle it. Like I said, I was in the military. This wouldn't be the first wound I've dressed."

She was hesitant to let him do anything for her. But then, she supposed she would not be in his debt if she allowed it. She had just helped to save him from the Brotherhood. But then, he had saved her life as well. How did that even out? Who was in debt to whom?

She lost her train of thought as Tywin pressed the bandage against her wound and she winced. She looked down at her arm, focusing on the dark streaks of blood running from the wound to her hand and dripping onto the crimson seat covers. She laughed once.

"What is it?" Tywin asked.

She glanced up at him. "The blood blends in with the cushions... so you won't have to worry about stains."

"And that's funny to you?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.

"I'm very woozy. Lots of things are funny to me."

"I see." He tied off the bandage with a sharp tug. "Keep drinking water. You may need a blood transfusion by the time we reach the manor."

"Will it require going to a hospital?" she murmured.

"No," Tywin said. "It won't." He stood from his seat, finding a towel in her bag to wipe the blood off his hands. Then he handed it to her so she could clean herself up.

As she carefully wiped her arm and the ruined blouse as best she could, he sat down across from her.

"That was an impressive display," he noted.

"Was it?" Arya asked. She was aware of him studying her intently. "I was improvising."

"Really? Because it seemed like something you've done before," Tywin said.

Arya kept her face impassive. He was right. She had done something like that before. It was a classic tactic to draw in a target. A helpless, crying girl drew in kind and predatory men in equal measure. The kindly ones wanted to help and the predatory ones hoped to take advantage. But to the Faceless Men, their intent didn't matter. Only their death.

"Not really," she said. "But I'm used to being underestimated. I'm small and I'm a girl, so people don't see me as a threat. I figured we needed the element of surprise to win. I'm a surprise."

"That we can agree on," Tywin said. "You play to the advantages of your size. In acting and in combat. That was the first time I've seen you in action."

"And?" Arya asked.

"And I want to know where you learned to do that," he said. "Don't insult me by claiming it was 'luck' or 'your first time'. You have training."

_Seven hells, _she thought. It was possible she had done her job too well. But then again, if she had done her job poorly, she might have died. She couldn't deny the training.

"Yeah. Some," Arya said. "A lot of it is self-taught too. It's amazing what you can find on the internet these days. That's why my style is a mix of everything."

"Yes, it's a mix," Tywin said. "Is one of those styles Braavosi?"

_I hate this man, _Arya thought. "You recognize it?"

"Braavos was an ally to Volantis in the wars," Tywin said. "I recognize it well enough."

Fortunately, Arya had a proper story for this, and it wasn't even a lie. "Water dancing was the first style I trained in before I left home. I had a Braavosi instructor named Syrio Forel. My father found him for me. He figured if I wouldn't stop picking fights, I might as well learn to do it properly."

"Seems that would just encourage more fighting," Tywin said.

"Sure. But at least I'd win," Arya said.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, Arya thought she had successfully dodged his most prying questions. But then he asked one last question.

"And where did you learn to kill?"

Arya's heart clenched, and she threaded her fingers together. "I learned certain moves during my training that—"

"That's not what I'm asking," Tywin said. "Lots of people know how to kill theoretically. Going through with it is different. You can tell the people who have experience."

"Like you?" Arya asked.

He did not balk from the question. He held her gaze. "Yes. Like me."

Arya knew she shouldn't blink or look away. It would show weakness. But another wave of dizziness washed over her and she closed her eyes, trying to center herself. "Sometimes... you don't have a choice."

Perhaps Tywin would have replied, but at that moment, the compartment door slid open again. Arya recognized the heavy footsteps of Clegane.

"No Brotherhood left on the train," he said. "And we've restrained the injured ones. We called the police. They'll be waiting when we pull into the station."

"Good," Tywin said. "You'll handle them. Miss Rivers requires further medical attention. Call Qyburn and tell him to be at the manor when we arrive."

"Yes, sir," Clegane said. "Quite the show she put on. I wasn't sure about taking this train, considering that tip we got but it worked out in the end."

Arya's brow furrowed. Tip? What tip?

"A man in my position cannot change his schedule for extremists," Tywin said. "That's why I pay you. So that there's no need."

"Keep her on the payroll then," Clegane said, nodding at Arya. Then he backed out of the compartment.

Slowly, Arya turned back to look at Tywin. "Did you... know the Brotherhood would be on this train?"

"We had a tip that said they might be," Tywin said. "Someone must have told them my travel schedule."

_I did, _Arya thought. Or, at least, she had told the Faceless Men her travel schedule, and it was easy for her to put two and two together. "And you didn't take the next train... why? Just to make a statement?"

"Partially." He looked up from his phone. "I also wanted to see what you would do," his green eyes glittered with amusement. "You did not disappoint."

She might have considered a compliment. But it was also a warning. A warning that he was still watching her, picking apart holes in her story. He did not trust her because she had already lied so much.

So how in the seven hells was she supposed to get "close" to him as the Waif asked?

The Faceless Men were playing some sort of game with Tywin Lannister and using Arya as their principal pawn. And she could tell already that he was a much harder opponent than they had judged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya deals with the train hijacking but shows more cards in the process! But hey, at least she and Tywin make a pretty good team. Hope you enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	28. Widening Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, an ANNOUNCEMENT before we get this chapter started. Unfortunately, going into the new year, I'm going to have to take a break from this fic. I'm at a stuck point with some of the plot and it will cause problems for me in immediate chapters if I can't figure it out.
> 
> Not to mention, if I do continue to update as I have been, the chapters will likely be rushed and substandard, which I don't want. All things considered, A Wolf Amongst Lions was a freak of nature for the fact I was able to keep up with it. This one has a few more extended plot threads to manage, so its giving me trouble. Ideally, the break won't be longer than a month, but I can't make any concrete promises.
> 
> So, apologies for not keeping up with the same regular schedule all the way through, but I appreciate the continued support. Enjoy this chapter!

The press and the police were waiting at the station when they arrived, but Tywin avoided most of them. Or at least Arya assumed he avoided them. Perhaps she just blacked out while gripping onto his arm and forgot the conversation. She was only half conscious through most of the drive back to the Lannister manor, and before she knew it, someone had opened her door. Her head lulled to the side, and she recognized Qyburn standing there, holding out a hand. His expression was that of mild disapproval.

"It's only been a few weeks since our last visit. You should endeavor to take fewer bullet wounds."

"Well, I wasn't the one who caught a train I knew was targeted by a terrorist organization," Arya mumbled.

"No. I'm sure you weren't." Qyburn looked up from her, presumably toward Tywin. Arya didn't turn her head to see. "It's not my place to question you sir but... why?"

"I have matters to attend to this afternoon," Tywin said simply.

"I find it difficult to attend to matters when one is shot."

"As you can see, I'm fine," Tywin said. "See to the girl. I have to make a few calls."

"Yes, sir." Qyburn grasped Arya's hand and helped her from the car. "Well, Miss Rivers... no one can say you're not doing your job."

_The Faceless Men might disagree, _Arya thought, but did not say. Instead, she offered a smile. "I am trying."

* * *

The gunshot wound was deeper than the previous one, and it was a miracle that Arya had stayed conscious this long. Maybe she had bandaged the wound sooner to at least limit the flow of blood. She had let the last wound bleed for a solid twenty minutes before she got help.

Qyburn was able to set her up with a blood transfusion and more water to help combat the blood loss. By the time he finished the last stitch, Arya could sit up without feeling like she might topple over if the wind hit her wrong.

"You have a high pain resistance," he noted casually as he cut the thread.

"Do I?" Arya asked.

"Oh yes," Qyburn said. "You don't flinch when the needle goes in. Its unusual. But then, I suppose you've had many stitches in your life."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "You noticed the last time you treated me and told Tywin."

"He's my employer," Qyburn said. "And he asked if I noticed anything of interest. You don't see many young women with the scars you have."

"I've had an interesting life," she said.

"Naturally," Qyburn said. "Don't worry. I have no intention of interrogating you. I'm only here to patch you up." He placed a bandage over the wound to cover the new stitches. "There. Make sure you rest it. Is this your dominant arm?"

"No. My left," Arya said. "But I can use them both almost equally well."

"Ambidextrous." Qyburn raised an eyebrow. "Were you born with that talent or did you develop it?"

_I developed it. When the Waif broke my left arm in training, _Arya thought, but she gave him a look. "I thought you had no intention of interrogating me."

"I'm only curious, Miss Rivers," Qyburn said. "Sometimes people ask each other questions in conversation."

Arya studied him for a moment longer before she spoke again. "How long have you worked for the Lannisters?"

"Ten years now," Qyburn said.

"And how did you come to work for them?"

Qyburn smirked and paced over to the sink. "Now who's conducting an interrogation?"

"Don't answer then," Arya said. "I was only curious."

"That's all right. I'm not as guarded as you." Qyburn filled a cup of water and returned to her, handing it over. She accepted and drank deeply. "Cersei hired me. The previous doctor was getting old."

"Why bother keeping a private doctor?" Arya asked.

"Many notable families like the Lannisters hire private doctors. It keeps any more sensitive medical matters away from the press. And I proved that I could be discreet, so I was an ideal candidate."

"How did you prove you could be discreet?" Arya asked.

"Well, if I told you, I wouldn't be living up to my reputation, would I?" Qyburn asked. "I helped the Lannisters with a certain matter. That is all I am at liberty to tell you."

_Ten years ago, _Arya thought. She tried to think about what was happening ten years ago. She was eight years old, so she hadn't paid attention to the business world. She remembered Robert Baratheon was over at their house a lot, complaining loudly about his recent divorce.

The divorce. Perhaps that was it. Cersei wanted to get a divorce from Robert Baratheon and she ended up getting most of her demands in the divorce. Pregnancy may have complicated the situation. Maybe Qyburn had helped her to deal with it.

That would make sense. It was pregnancy that rushed Cersei into a marriage with Robert Baratheon when she was just Arya's age. Marriage was a better solution than abortion with the press. The Faith of the Seven was staunchly against it. If anyone had caught wind of Cersei getting an abortion amid a divorce hearing, she may have lost custody of her kids. So Qyburn had handled it discreetly, and now he made a great deal of money.

She couldn't help but wonder what other matters he handled discreetly. If he had helped to cover any of Joffrey's indiscretions. Or the indiscretions of the Lannister brothers. Or Tywin himself. This man likely knew much of the skeletons in their closets, but she could tell just by looking at him he wouldn't give anything away. You could tell the talkers. He wasn't one of them.

Arya finished her water and hopped off the table. "Well... thank you for helping with the arm. I'll try not to get shot again anytime soon."

"An admirable goal, Miss Rivers," Qyburn said with a nod. "Until next time."

* * *

From Qyburn's room, Arya made her way to Tywin's office. He was on a call when she entered and she started to back away, but he gave her a wave to come in. Apparently, he wasn't worried about her overhearing the conversation.

"When the boy's shift is over then," he was saying. "I would like to take care of this matter as quickly as possible." There was a pause as the other person replied. "I don't see why the train hijacking should delay us. No one died. It's handled... If there's a leak I'll find it. I'd rather deal with this threat first... All right then. Until later." He hung up the phone, tossing it onto the desk and glancing to Arya. "Is the damage permanent?"

"Just another scar," she said. "Who were you talking to?"

"My son, Jaime," Tywin said. "He'll be over with your cousin after he gets off his shift. They'll bring the number they obtained and we'll see where it leads us."

"Right." Arya swallowed hard. The train hijacking had been so eventful, she nearly forgot about the number-and how much closer it could bring them to the truth behind her father's murder.

But that truth was a double-edged sword to Arya. As soon as she knew the truth, she could act on it. Once she acted on it, the Faceless Men would have fulfilled the deal, and her name... would no longer belong to her.

"You don't seem pleased by that," Tywin said.

Arya cursed herself. She needed to stop dropping her guard when he was in the room. "I am. Just worried that it will lead to a dead end."

He studied her for a moment, searching for a lie on her face, but before he could interrogate it further, there was a commotion in the hallway.

"I _know _where I'm going. Thank you."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "Is that my mom?"

Tywin rubbed his temples. "Sounds that way."

Moments later the door opened and Arya's mother entered, a mix of fury and worry on her face. The worry dissipated to relief when she saw Arya. "Thank the gods. You're all right."

"Yes, I'm fine," Arya said, standing in time for her mother to pull her into a hug. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Because according to the news, the Brotherhood hijacked a train from Highgarden to the king's Landing this morning. And Tywin Lannister was on the train." Catelyn pulled back to look at her. "They said there were casualties, but they didn't say who they were. So yes. I worried. A text next time wouldn't be amiss, Arya."

Arya felt shame wash over her. Of course, her mother was worried. Until recently, she thought Arya was dead. To hear that she was involved in a hijacking... that must have been terrifying. But Arya was not used to keeping her mother in the loop. Not after three years with the Faceless Men. "Sorry," she murmured. "I'm... sorry."

"I'm just glad you're safe," Catelyn said. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly, and she turned on Tywin. "One stipulation of our agreement was that you not put her in danger."

A normal person may have said, _"How could I have known they would attack the train?" _But Tywin was not normal, and if he said that, it would be a lie. Because he_ did_ know.

"I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to her," Tywin said. "And as you can see, your daughter is fine."

"Really?" Catelyn asked. "What's wrong with her arm then?"

"A minor graze from a bullet."

"She was _shot_?"

"It's not that bad though," Arya chimed in. "I'm fine."

"See," Tywin said. "She's fine."

Catelyn didn't reply for a minute. Instead, she drew in a deep breath. She had one of _the looks_, which every Stark child was quite familiar with. Actually, it was a delicate blend between two looks. The 'Seven help me' look, which she wore when Arya's father brought home six dogs without telling her. And the 'one second from flipping the nearest table look' which she wore when an assistant principal once made the mistake of blaming Sansa for the rumors circulating about her.

Arya wasn't sure if the look was meant for Tywin or her, or possibly both, but when her mother finished taking a breath, she looked at Tywin. "Mr. Lannister... I agreed to leave my daughter with you because if there is a snake in the grass, we don't want them to grow wary. But I should make something clear... if you let something happen to her, I will make you regret it. That's a promise."

Arya felt a surge of admiration for her mother just then, that she was so willing to face the notorious Tywin Lannister on her behalf. She also felt a surge of guilt, knowing that she would hurt her again when she left. And a slight twinge of worry, because if Catelyn blamed Tywin for that she might murder him, continuing the streak of dead CEOs. Could her mother get away with murder? She wasn't sure, and she didn't want to put her in a position where she would have to try.

Tywin tilted his head to the side, studying Catelyn. If her statement angered him, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed more intrigued by the declaration than anything. "I understand, Mrs. Stark. But you need not worry. Your daughter, it seems, can handle herself very well in dangerous situations."

Catelyn looked from him to Arya, who picked at her nails. "You know... I've been training. Keeping up with the stuff Syrio taught me back before I disappeared." She shrugged. "Anyway, Mr. Lannister is exaggerating. Most of it was luck."

She wasn't entirely lying. In fact, she would be dead if Tywin hadn't been ready with his gun. The Waif and Jaqen would have berated her for such a careless mistake.

Catelyn exhaled. "Arya-"

The door to the office opened and Arya paled as Cersei Lannister stepped through the door. She was sharply dressed as always, and her expression was sharp to match it. But her eyes went from hard to confused when she saw Catelyn and Arya in the room.

"Mrs. Stark," she said. "And... Miss Rivers. Shouldn't you still be with my daughter in the Reach?"

"I... yes, ma'am," Arya said. "But your father asked me to return with him."

"Why?" Cersei asked. She looked back to Catelyn. "And what are you doing here? You've almost never come to the manor, but this is the second time I've seen you here in less than two weeks."

Catelyn didn't respond. There was nothing to say, really. No lie that would sound convincing. Cersei was not a fool, and she was right. Arya _should _be with Myrcella, and the only reason she wasn't was because she needed to help find her father's killer. And Catelyn did _not _come to the Lannister manor. She was only here for Arya.

Cersei let out a frustrated breath and looked to her father. "Okay. Seriously. What the fuck is going on?"

Arya glanced at Tywin, hoping he might come up with some brilliant lie. But even he seemed to recognize the absurdity of the situation. "Catelyn Stark is here to check on the wellbeing of her daughter."

"Her daughter?" Cersei asked. "Why would Sansa Stark be here?"

"Not Sansa. Arya," Tywin said.

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "Arya Stark is dead."

"Not... exactly," Arya said.

Cersei turned her gaze on her, and Arya sank a bit in her chair beneath her scrutiny. The realization hit the woman's face, and Arya watched a whole litany of emotions pass through her green eyes.

"No. That's impossible."

"It's unlikely," Tywin said. "But not impossible. Beth Rivers was Arya Stark in disguise from beginning. She was missing, but never dead."

For the first time, Arya saw Cersei caught entirely off guard. She looked from Tywin to Catelyn to Arya, as if trying to make it all make sense. At last she got out a question: "And... what was she doing pretending to be a... bodyguard?"

Tywin exhaled, and Arya didn't envy him for having to recount recent events to Cersei. It was a confusing story, and it made little sense, especially since she had only told them half the truth about her time away.

To his credit, Tywin was good at delivering incredible information as if it were of no consequence. He nearly made the situation sound normal in his bored, dry tone. An impressive feat. But still at the end, the truth left Cersei rubbing her temples, looking like she desperately wanted a drink.

"So... Arya Stark infiltrated our pay roll because she suspects us of being involved with her father's death. She lies to us and applies for a job under false pretenses. And apparently we're rewarding this behavior by... helping her?"

"Considering that anyone who murdered Ned Stark might target our family next, yes. We're helping her," Tywin said. "This isn't a charity. This is for the good of our family. It just happens that Stark and Lannister interests align for once."

"And why should we trust her?" Cersei asked. "Considering she's lied about everything else."

_That's actually a good point, _Arya thought. _I have lied about everything else. I'm still lying._

"If the girl meant our family harm, we would know," Tywin said. "I'd say that besides lying about her identity, she's performed well in her job. She proved herself suitable again today when our train was hijacked."

"Gods. Right. The train. That was what I came to talk to you about, wasn't it? And I forgot because," she gestured wildly. "_This_." Cersei let out a long breath, pacing from one book shelf to another. "I don't like this."

"No one likes this," Catelyn said. "It's just a necessity, given the circumstances."

"Your husband was killed in a car accident," Cersei said. "There was no evidence of murder. Why are we assuming it's murder?"

"Because too many CEOs have died in King's Landing lately," Tywin said. "And we've already found evidence of foul play. We just don't know the extent of it yet."

"And until we do?" Cersei raised an eyebrow. "We let the Stark girl play bodyguard to my daughter? Why should I put Myrcella's life on the line for this?"

"Excuse me?" Arya stood from her seat. "Look, I know I lied about my name and my intentions, but I haven't put Myrcella on _any _lines since I've been here. In fact, if not for me, she might already be dead. Or did you forget?"

Cersei's green eyes flicked to her and Arya saw the fury burning within them. But it was a mask for her worry, and even she couldn't retort to that. "I have not forgotten." She looked to her father. "Is our family truly in danger?"

"I've always preferred to err on the side of caution," Tywin said. "But we have a lead. If something comes of it, I'll let you know."

"Will you?" Cersei asked. "It seemed you would have gladly kept me in the dark if I didn't walk in at the right moment."

"I hoped not to involve you until we knew more," Tywin said.

"I see," Cersei said. "And who else knows besides the people in this room?"

"Clegane," Tywin said. "He's the only one on the security team with any information."

"My children," Catelyn added. "Though most of them don't know details. My nephew Jon knows the most because of his connections with the police."

"And Jaime," Arya said. "For the same reason."

That seemed to send a spark of irritation through Cersei. "Really? Jaime? You involved Jaime before me. Next you'll tell me that Tyrion knows."

"Don't be ridiculous, Cersei," Tywin said. "I involved him because of his connection with the police. We needed-"

"Never mind. No need to explain," Cersei said, stalking toward the door. "I'm sure you'll update me when it becomes relevant."

"I will," Tywin said. "I trust you'll keep this new information to yourself?"

"As if anyone would believe this story," Cersei muttered before she slipped out the door and slammed it behind her.

"That wasn't exactly a yes," Catelyn observed.

"She'll keep it a secret," Tywin said. "Cersei often plays at rebellion, but does as I say more often than not. And she won't endanger her daughter."

Arya pulled nervously at two fingers. Tywin was right. Cersei wouldn't endanger Myrcella. But the ever-widening circle of people who knew the truth worried Arya. Her family, Tywin, Cersei, Jaime, Sandor Clegane... when would Jaqen or the Waif join their numbers?

She had to hope they closed in on her father's killer before the Faceless Men closed in on her.

* * *

There were many people who Jaime didn't expect to spend an extended amount of time with after he lost his hand—or ever. One was Brienne Tarth, who after their rocky start, he assumed would rather fight a bear than spend more than a few minutes with him. Another was Jon Stark.

Eddard Stark's nephew looked a great deal like his uncle—more so than any of his sons in fact. He had a mess of dark curls which fell in front of his dark grey eyes. Those eyes showed nothing but distrust when Jaime pulled up beside him in the station parking lot.

"Shift over?" he asked.

"Yes," Jon said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"My father returned to King's Landing this morning," Jaime said. "We're going to call that number today, so we're going to the Lannister manor."

Jon shoved his hands in his pockets. What serious face he had for someone only in his mid-twenties. "Could you not have texted me this?"

"Sure. Probably," Jaime said. "But you've never been to the Lannister manor, and you'd have to deal with security at the gate. Terrible inconvenience. Thought it might be easier if I gave you a ride."

Jon did not respond immediately. He glanced from Jaime toward his own car. Not one to disguise his dislike, was he? He was like many members of his family in that regard. It was a Stark family trait to be honest about the good and the bad.

"I'd also like to form a strategy before we talk to my father," Jaime said. "That's my other reason for offering."

Jon seemed to accept this motivation. "Fine then. We'll discuss."

"Excellent," Jaime said. "Hop in."

Once in the passenger's seat, Jaime noticed Jon glance more than once at the stump of his wrist which rested on the wheel. Either out of curiosity about the accident or worry that perhaps a one handed man wasn't the best driver.

"Relax, Stark," Jaime said. "I've been without a hand for a year now. I'm a perfectly good driver."

"I didn't say anything," Jon said.

"You don't have to. I could see the question written all over your face," Jaime said. "You Starks are an honest lot. Got that from old Ned I suppose. Though, no, he wasn't your father so... perhaps the trait came from your grandfather?"

"I'm honest because my uncle taught me not to lie," Jon said. "I'm sorry that your father didn't do the same."

Jaime smirked. "You know, Stark, I'm not sure where you got the idea that I'm a liar. I've never lied to you, have I?"

Jon shrugged, looking out the window.

"I suppose your uncle told you some nasty rumors about me," Jaime said. "Maybe I should be flattered that Ned Stark was so concerned with my past actions that he spoke of them to his children. Was it a bed-time story he told you at night?"

"Keep his name out of your mouth."

"Why? He didn't keep my name out of his," Jaime said.

Jon crossed his arms over his chest, and Jaime could see him wondering if he could jump out of the car without damaging himself.

Jaime sighed. "Peace, Stark. I'm not here to fight. And I'm not asking you to be my friend either. Once this is all over, our families can go back to hating each other from a distance."

"That will be a relief to all of us, I'm sure," Jon said. "So. A strategy. How do we approach this?"

"I figured we'd call the number pretending to be Slynt," Jaime said. "We can tell whoever is on the other end that something has gone wrong. There are people asking questions and we need a little more _security_."

"You want to ask them for more money?" Jon asked. "Won't that drive them away?"

"I doubt it," Jaime said. "Slynt said that the voice on the other end sounded nervous and pegged them as 'some rich kid'. Which means he thinks they have money to burn and will do anything to keep this quiet."

"Of course they would," Jon said. "Even someone without money to burn would want to keep this quiet."

"Exactly," Jaime said. "We'll play on the nerves and coax them into some meeting."

"They won't want to show their face," Jon said.

"No. I'm sure they'll come with a mask. But it won't matter if we have the backup," Jaime said.

"What if _they_ come with backup?"

Jaime paused. That was a good point. It was likely that someone with cash to burn would burn some of said cash on bodyguards of some sort. "Then we'll play it safe. At least we'll be able to identify their build and voice. It will give us something."

Jon nodded once. "So maybe we coax them into a meeting. Only one problem with that. Neither of us are Slynt."

"True," Jaime said. "But I worked with the man for a few years. I can do a decent enough impression."

"Good enough to fool the one on the other side of the phone?" Jon asked.

Jaime sighed. "Well, we'll see, won't we?" He glanced at Jon. "Unless you have a better idea?"

Jon thought for a moment before he shook his head. "I thought about pretending to blackmail them into more money if they wanted their secret to stay that way. But that might just make them nervous and send them into hiding."

"Agreed," Jaime said. "We want them to think we're their friend. Or at least their ally." His hand tightened on the wheel. "It still might fail. I'm banking on our culprit being a bit... stupid. You'd have to be if you hire someone like Slynt."

The slightest smile tugged at Jon's mouth, and Jaime counted that as a victory. "Aye. You'd have to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of that. Like I said, I'm going to endeavor not to take too long a break. But if I don't, the following chapters will definitely be rushed and sloppy and I don't think anyone wants that. So happy new year and keep subscribed to this story for when it comes back. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


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